LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

... Sapgrigji if* 

Shelf. Ak, 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



CHOICE READINGS 



BEING COMPLETE WORKS BY 
TEN CELEBRATED WRITERS 



SELECTED, EDITED, AND ANNOTATED 
FOR USE IN SCHOOLS 



BY 



1/ 



CHARLES W. COLE, A. M., Ph.D 6 



SUPERINTENDENT OF SCHOOLS, ALBANY, N. Y. 




TAINTOR BROTHERS & CO. 

NEW YORK AND CHICAGO 



^ 






Copyright, 1892 

BY 

TAINTOR BROTHERS & CO. 



PREFACE 



Cakeful observers of educational processes are quite gen- 
erally agreed that more strenuous efforts should be made to 
instil in the minds of our children a love for healthful reading, 
as an antidote for the bane of the sensational matter that is daily 
thrust before their eyes. 

It is also generally agreed that such efforts to implant a 
taste for the higher types of literature should be made at an 
earlier age than heretofore ; and that our pupils of from 
twelve to fifteen years of age should have access to attractive, 
healthful and inspiring literature during this formative period. 

Much has been attempted in these directions by means of 
school editions of masterpieces of English and American 
writers; but it has seemed tome that many, if not most, of 
these are unsuited to the purpose, for it is not enough that 
a great writer has penned the lines ; the pieces chosen should 
be suited to the pupil's age and attainments, and should be so 
thoroughly enjoyable as to create the desire for more reading 
of the same kind. Now the recognized prose masterpieces are 
often so long that but one or two can be profitably read dur- 
ing a school year, and hence there cannot be that pleasing 
variety which will meet the varying needs of children. Extracts 
give variety, but, though scintillating with beauty, they give 
but a fleeting impression, while a complete work of an author 
better satisfies the mind, feeds the imagination, supplies the 
memory with a pleasing image, and directs the growing taste. 

This book is an effort to meet the varying needs of pupils 
ancj at the same time to present pieces that are complete, 



6 PREFACE, 

Edgar Allan Poe once said, " Were I called upon to designate 
that class of compositions which should best fulfill the demands 
of high genius, I should unhesitatingly speak of the short 
prose tale." The majority of the pieces are short tales — the 
descriptive and oratorical ones being introduced with a view to 
greater variety of style and matter, and to give opportunity 
for elocutionary instruction. 

It is believed that all the selections have the essential charac- 
teristics of good construction, pleasing style and thorough en- 
joyableness. Passages in Alpine Climbing and The Uses of 
Astronomy will require careful study ; otherwise all the 
selections can be read with ease by quite young pupils. 

If those who may use this book are thereby led to love 
healthful, inspiring and uplifting reading, its aim will be accom- 
plished. 

I am under obligation to Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons, and 
Thomas Y. Crowell & Co. for permission to use their publica- 
tions and to Dr. Win. Everett for his kind consent to use the 
oration of his distinguished father. 

c. w. c. 

Albany, N. Y., September, 1891. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGES 

The Great Carbuncle, , 9-25 

Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

Dolph Heyliger, , 26-81 

Washington Irving. 

The Crime of Old Blas, . 82-108 

Catulle Mendes. 

From the Apeninnes to the Andes, .... 109-142 

Edmondo De AiMICIS. 

Alpine Climbing, . 143-179 

John Tvndall. 

A Christmas Carol, 180-215 

Charles Dickens. 

Aslauga's Knight, 216-255 

De LaMotte Fouque. 

The Story without an End, . . . ... . , 256-277 

Frederick Wilhelm Carove. 

The Uses of Astronomy, 278-310 

Edward Everett. 

The Second Inaugural, 3 Il ~3*3 

The Gettysburg Address, , 314 

Abraham Lincoln. 
Notes > 315 

Bibliography, 344 

Index, ,»,,.,„ 348 



SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS. 

Each piece should be read through twice, — the first reading 
to be a rapid one, so that the class may get acquaintance with 
it, and pleasure from it, as a whole ; the second reading should 
be with more attention to details, although great care should 
be taken not to make so close and critical a study as to disgust 
the pupils with what should be looked back upon with pleasure 
only. 

After the second reading, each pupil should be required to 
write brief compositions on at least two topics : the first being 
a general summary of the piece, the second, a description of 
some one character or episode. 

The Notes, which have been relegated to the end of the 
book, so as not to mar the pages of the text, or distract the 
eye of the reader, are, it is hoped, sufficiently full and clear for 
their purpose. 

The brief biographies should be read and referred to for 
information, but not memorized ; pupils should be shown how 
to obtain such information, but their memories should not be 
burdened with details that are of little comparative importance. 



THE GREAT CARBUNCLE.* 

A MYSTERY OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 

BY 
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 

At nightfall once in the olden time, on the rugged side of 
one of the Crystal Hills, a party of adventurers were refresh- 
ing themselves after a toilsome and fruitless quest for the 
Great Carbuncle. They had come thither, not as friends 

5 nor partners in the enterprise, but each, save one youthful 
pair, impelled by his own selfish and solitary longing for this 
wondrous gem. Their feeling of brotherhood, however, was 
strong enough to induce them to contribute a mutual aid in 
building a rude hut of branches, and kindling a great fire of 

10 shattered pines that had drifted down the headlong current 
of the Amonoosuck, on the lower bank of which they were 
to pass the night. There was but one of their number, per- 
haps, who had become so estranged from natural sympathies 
by the absorbing spell of the pursuit as to acknowledge no 

15 satisfaction at the sight of human faces in the remote and 
solitary region whither they had ascended. A vast extent 
of wilderness lay between them and the nearest settlement, 
while scant a mile above their heads was that black verge 
where the hills throw off their shaggy mantle of foresr-trees, 

20 and either robe themselves in clouds or tower naked into 
the sky. The roar of the Amonoosuck would have been too 

* The Indian tradition on which this somewhat extravagant tale is 
founded, is both too wild and too beautiful to be adequately wrought up in 
prose. Sullivan, in his history of Maine, written since the Revolution, re- 
marks that even then the existence of the Great Carbuncle was not entire 1 ^ 
discredited, 

9 



IO THE GREAT CARBUNCLE. 

awful for endurance if only a solitary man had listened 
while the mountain-stream talked with the wind. 

The adventurers, therefore, exchanged hospitable greetings 

25 and welcomed one another to the hut, where each man was 
the host and -all were the guests of the whole company. 
They spread their individual supplies of food on the flat 
surface of a rock and partook of a general repast; at the 
close of which a sentiment of good-fellowship was percepti- 

30 ble among the party, though repressed by the idea that the 
renewed search for the Great Carbuncle must make them 
strangers again in the morning. Seven men and one young 
woman, they warmed themselves together at the fire, which 
extended its bright wall along the whole front of their wig- 

35 warn. As they observed the various and contrasted figures 
that made up the assemblage, each man looking like a cari- 
cature of himself in the unsteady light that flickered over 
him, they came mutually to the conclusion that an odder 
society had never met in city or wilderness, on mountain or 

40 plain. 

The eldest of the group — a tall, lean, weather-beaten man 
some sixty years of age — was clad in the skins of wild 
animals whose fashion of dress he did well to imitate, since 
the deer, the wolf and the bear, had long been his most 

45 intimate companions. He was one of those ill-fated mortals, 
such as the Indians told of, whom in their early youth the 
Great Carbuncle smote with a peculiar madness and became 
the passionate dream of their existence. All who visited 
that region knew him as "the Seeker," and by no other 

so name. As none could remember when he first took up the 
search, there went a fable in the valley of the Saco, that for 
his inordinate lust after the Great Carbuncle he had been 
condemned to wander among the mountains till the end of 
time, still with the same feverish hopes at sunrise, the same 

55 despair at eve. Near this miserable Seeker sat a little 
elderly personage wearing a high-crowned hat shaped some- 



THE GREAT CARBUNCLE. II 

what like a crucible. He was from beyond the sea — a 
Dr. Cacaphodel, who had wilted and dried himself into a 
mummy by continually stooping over charcoal furnaces and 

60 inhaling unwholesome fumes during his researches in chem- 
istry and alchemy. It was told of him — whether truly or 
not — that at the commencement of his studies he had 
drained his body of all its richest blood and wasted it with 
other inestimable ingredients, in an unsuccessful experi- 

65 ment, and had never been a well man since. Another of 
the adventurers was Master Ichabod Pigsnort, a weighty 
merchant and selectman of Boston, and an elder of the 
famous Mr. Norton's church. His enemies had a ridiculous 
story that Master Pigsnort was accustomed to spend a 

70 whole hour after prayer-time every morning and evening in 
wallowing naked among an immense quantity of pine-tree 
shillings, which were the earliest silver coinage of Massa- 
chusetts. The fourth whom we shall notice had no name 
that his companions knew of, and was chiefly distinguished 

75 by a sneer that always contorted his thin visage, and by a 
prodigious pair of spectacles which were supposed to de- 
form and discolor the whole face of nature to this gentle- 
man's perception. The fifth adventurer likewise lacked a 
name, which was the greater pity, as he appeared to be a 

80 poet. He was a bright-eyed man, but wofully pined away, 
which was no more than natural if, as some people affirmed, 
his ordinary diet was fog, morning mist and a slice of the 
densest cloud within his reach, sauced with moonshine when- 
ever he could get it. Certain it is that the poetry which 

85 flowed from him had a smack of all these dainties. The 
sixth of the party was a young man of haughty mien and 
sat somewhat apart from the rest, wearing his plumed hat 
loftily among his elders, while the fire glittered on the rich 
embroidery of his dress and gleamed intensely on the jew- 

90 eled pommel of his sword. This was the lord De Vere, who 
when at home was $aid to spend much of his time in the 



12 THE GREAT CARBUNCLE. 

burial-vault of his dead progenitors rummaging their moldy 
coffins in search of all the earthly pride and vain-glory that 
was hidden among bones and dust ; so that, besides his own 
95 share, he had the collected haughtiness of his whole line of 
ancestry. Lastly, there was a handsome youth in rustic garb, 
and by his side a blooming little person in whom a delicate 
shade of maiden reserve was just melting into the rich glow 
of a young wife's affection. Her name was Hannah, and her 

100 husband's Matthew — two homely names, yet well enough 
adapted to the simple pair who seemed strangely out of place 
among the whimsical fraternity whose wits had been set agog 
by the Great Carbuncle. 

Beneath the shelter of one hut, in the bright blaze of 

105 the same fire, sat this varied group of adventurers, all so in- 
tent upon a single object that, of whatever else they began to 
speak, their closing words were sure to be illuminated with 
the Great Carbuncle. Several related the circumstances 
that brought them thither. One had listened to a traveler's 

no tale of this marvelous stone in his own distant country, and 
had immediately been seized with such a thirst for beholding 
it as could only be quenched in its intensest luster. Another, 
so long ago as when the famous Captain Smith visited these 
coasts, had seen it blazing far at sea, and had felt no rest 

115 in all the intervening years till now that he took up the 
search. A third, being encamped on a hunting-expedition 
full forty miles south of the White Mountains, awoke at mid- 
night and beheld the Great Carbuncle gleaming like a meteor, 
so that the shadows of the trees fell backward from it. They 

120 spoke of the innumerable attempts which had been made to 
reach the spot, and of the singular fatality which had hith- 
erto withheld success from all adventurers, though it might 
seem so easy to follow to its source a light that overpowered 
the moon and almost matched the sun. It was observable that 

125 each smiled scornfully at the madness of every other in an- 
ticipating better fortune than the past, yet nourished a 



THE GREA T CARB UNCLE. 1 3 

scarcely hidden conviction that he would himself be the 
favored one. As if to allay their too sanguine hopes, they 
recurred to the Indian traditions that a spirit kept watch 

130 about the gem and bewildered those who sought it either -by 
removing it from peak to peak of the higher hills or by call- 
ing up a mist from the enchanted lake over which it hung. 
But these tales were deemed unworthy of credit, all profess- 
ing to believe that the search had been baffled by want of 

135 sagacity or perseverance in the adventurers, or such other 
causes as might naturally obstruct the passage to any given 
point among the intricacies of forest, valley and mountain. 

In a pause of the conversation the wearer of the prodig- 
ious spectacles looked round upon the party, making each 

140 individual in turn the object of the sneer which invariably 
dwelt upon his countenance. 

" So, fellow-pilgrims," said he, " here we are, seven wise 
men and one fair damsel, who doubtless is as wise as any 
graybeard of the company. Here we are, I say, all bound on 

145 the same goodly enterprise. Methinks, now, it were not 
amiss that each of us declare what he proposes to do with 
the Great Carbuncle, provided he have the good hap to 
clutch it. — What says our friend in the bearskin ? How 
mean you, good sir, to enjoy the prize which you have been 

150 seeking, the Lord knows how long, among the Crystal 
Hills ?" 

" How enjoy it ! " exclaimed the aged Seeker, bitterly. 
"I hope for no enjoyment from it; that. folly has past long 
ago. I keep up the search for this accursed stone because 

155 the vain ambition of my youth has become a fate upon me in 
old age. The pursuit alone is my strength, the energy of my 
soul, the warmth of my blood and the pith and marrow of 
my bones. Were I to turn my back upon it, I should fall 
down dead on the hither side of the notch which is the gate- 

160 way of this mountain region. Yet not to have my wasted 
lifetime back again would I give up my hopes of the Great 



1 4 THE GREA T CA KB UNCLE. 

Carbuncle. Having found it, I shall bear it to a certain 
cavern that I wot of, and there, grasping it in my arms, lie 
down and die and keep it buried with me for ever." 

165 " O wretch, regardless of the interest of science, " cried 
Dr. Cacaphodel, with philosophic indignation, " thou art 
not worthy to behold even from afar off the luster of this 
most precious gem that ever was concocted in the laboratory 
of Nature. Mine is the sole purpose for which a wise man 

170 may desire the possession of the Great Carbuncle. Imme- 
diately on obtaining it — for I have a presentiment, good 
people, that the prize is reserved to crown my scientific 
reputation — I shall return to Europe and employ my remain- 
ing years in reducing it to its first elements. A portion of 

175 the stone will I grind to impalpable powder, other parts 
shall be dissolved in acids or whatever solvents will act upon 
so admirable a composition, and the remainder I design to 
melt in the crucible or set on fire with the blow-pipe. By 
these various methods I shall gain an accurate analysis, and 

180 finally bestow the result of my labors upon the world in a 
folio volume. 1 ' 

" Excellent ! " quoth the man with the spectacles. " Nor 
need you hesitate, learned sir, on account of the necessary 
destruction of the gem, since the perusal of your folio may 

185 teach every mother's son of us tc concoct a Great Carbuncle 
of his own." 

"But verily," said Master Ichabod Pigsnort, "for mine 
own part, I object to the making of these counterfeits, as 
being calculated to reduce the marketable value of the true 

190 gem. I tell ye frankly, sirs, I have an interest in keeping up 
the price*. Here have I quitted my regular traffic, leaving 
my warehouse in the care of my clerks, and putting my 
credit to great hazard, and, furthermore, have put myself in 
peril of death or captivity by the accursed heathen savages, 

195 and all this without daring to ask the prayers of the congre- 
gation, because the quest for the Great Carbuncle is deemed 



THE GREAT CARBUNCLE. t$ 

little better than a traffic with the evil one. Now, think ye 
that I would have done this grievous wrong to my soul, 
body, reputation and estate, without a reasonable chance of 

200 profit ? " 

" Not I, pious Master Pigsnort," said the man with the 
spectacles. " I never laid such a great folly to thy charge." 
" Truly, I hope not, said the merchant. " Now, as touch- 
ing this Great Carbuncle, I am free to own that I have never 

205 had a glimpse of it, but, be it only the hundredth part so 
bright as people tell, it will surely outvalue the Great 
Mogul's best diamond, which he holds at an incalculable 
sum ; wherefore I am minded to put the Great Carbuncle on 
shipboard and voyage with it to England, France, Spain, 

210 Italy, or into heathendom if Providence should send me 
thither, and, in a word, dispose of the gem to the best bidder 
among the potentates of the earth, that he may place it 
among his crown jewels. If any of ye have a wiser plan, let 
him expound it." 

215 " That have I, thou sordid man ! " exclaimed the poet. 
" Dost thou desire nothing brighter than gold, that thou 
wouldst transmute all this ethereal luster into such dross as 
thou wallowest in already ? For myself, hiding the jewel under 
my cloak, I shall hie me back to my attic-chamber in one of 

220 the darksome alleys of London. There night and day will I 
gaze upon it. My soul shall drink its radiance ; it shall be 
diffused throughout my intellectual powers and gleam 
brightly in every line of poesy that I indite. Thus long ages 
after I am gone the splendor of the Great Carbuncle will 

225 blaze around my name." 

"Well said, Master Poet!" cried he of the spectacles. 

" Hide it under thy cloak, sayest thou ? Why, it will gleam 

through the holes and make thee look like a jack-o'-lantern ! " 

"To think," ejaculated the lord De Vere, rather to himself 

230 than his companions, the best of whom he held utterly un- 
worthy of his intercourse — "to think a fellow in a tattered 



l C ) THE GREAT CARBUNCLE. 

cloak should talk of conveying the Great Carbuncle to a gar- 
ret in Grub Street! Have not I resolved within myself that 
the whole earth contains no fitter ornament for the great hall 
885 of my ancestral castle ? There shall it flame lor ages, mak- 
ing a noonday of midnight, glittering on the smts of armor, 
the banners and escutcheons, that hang around the wall, and 
keeping bright the memory of heroes. Wherefore have all 
other adventurers sought the prize in vain but that I might 
840 win it and make it a symbol of the glories of our lofty hue? 
And never on the diadem of the White Mountains d.d the 
(beat Carbuncle hold a place half so honored as is reserved 
for it in the hall of the De Veres." 

"It is a noble thought," said the cynic, with an obse- 

M8 quious sneer. Yet, might I presume to say so, the gem would 

make a rare sepulchral lamp, ami would display the glories 

of Your Lordship's progenitors more truly in the ancestral 

vault than in the castle-hall." _ 

" Nay forsooth," observed Matthew, the young rustic, who 
HO sat hand in hand with his bride, "the gentleman has be- 
thought himself of a profitable use for this bright stone. 
Hannah here and I are seeking it for a like purpose." _ _ 

"How, follow?" exclaimed His Lordship, in surprise. 
"What castle-hall hast thou to hang it in ?" 
TO « No castle," replied Matthew, "but as neat a cottage as 
any within sight of the ( hys.al 1 1 ills. Ye must know, friends, 
that Hannah and 1, being wedded the last week, have taken 
up the search of the Croat Carbuncle because we shall need 
its light in the long winter evening and it will be such a 
aw pretty thin- to show the neighbors when they visit us ! It 
will shine through the house, so that we may pick up a pin 
i„ any comer, ami will set all the windows a-glowmg as if 
there were a great (ire of pine-knots in the chimney. And 
then how pleasant, when we awake in the night, to be able to 
963 see one another's faces! 

There W as a general smile among the adventurers at the 



THE GREAT CARBUNCLE. I J 

simplicity of the young couple's project in regard to this 
wondrous and invaluable stone, with which the greatest 
monarch on earth might have been proud to adorn his palace. 

270 Especially the man with spectacles, who had sneered at all 
the company in turn, now twisted his visage into such an ex- 
pression of ill-natured mirth that Matthew asked him rather 
peevishly what he himself meant to do with the Great Car- 
buncle. 

275 "The Great Carbuncle ! " answered the cynic, with ineffable 
scorn. "Why, you blockhead, there is no such thing in 
rerum naturd. I have come three thousand miles, and am 
resolved to set my foot on every peak of these mountains and 
poke my head into every chasm for the sole purpose of dem- 

280 onstrating to the satisfaction of any man one whit less an 
ass than thyself that the Great Carbuncle is all a hum- 
bug." 

Vain and foolish were the motives that had brought most 
of the adventurers to the Crystal Hills, but none so vain, so 

285 foolish, and so impious too, as that of the scoffer with the 
prodigious spectacles. He was one of those wretched and 
evil men whose yearnings are downward to the darkness in- 
stead of heavenward, and who, could they but extinguish the 
lights which God hath kindled for us, would count the mid- 
290 night gloom their chiefest glory. 

As the cynic spoke several of the party were startled by a 
gleam of red splendor that showed the huge shapes of the 
surrounding mountains and the rock-bestrewn bed of the 
turbulent river, with an illumination unlike that of their fire, 

295 on the trunks and black boughs of the forest-trees. They 
listened for the roll of thunder, but heard nothing, and were 
glad that the tempest came not near them. The stars — those 
dial-points of heaven — now warned the adventurers to close 
their eyes on the blazing logs and open them in dreams to 

300 the glow of the Great Carbuncle. 

The young married couple had taken their lodgings in the 

2 



1 8 THE GREA T CARB UNCLE. 

farthest corner of the wigwam, and were separated from the 
rest of the party by a curtain of curiously-woven twigs such 
as might have hung in deep festoons around the bridal-bower 

305 of Eve. The modest little wife had wrought this piece of 
tapestry while the other guests were talking. She and her 
husband fell asleep with hands tenderly clasped, and awoke 
from visions of unearthly radiance to meet the more blessed 
light of one another's eyes. They awoke at the same instant 

3io and with one happy smile beaming over their two faces, which 
grew brighter with their consciousness of the reality of life 
and love. But no sooner did she recollect where they were 
then the bride peeped through the interstices of the leafy 
curtain and saw that the outer room of the hut was de- 

315 serted. 

" Up, dear Matthew ! " cried she, in haste. " The strange 
folk are all gone. Up this very minute, or we shall lose the 
Great Carbuncle ! " 

In truth, so little did these poor young people deserve the 

320 mighty prize which had lured them thither that they had 
slept peacefully all night and till the summits of the hills 
were glittering with sunshine, while the other adventurers had 
tossed their limbs in feverish wakefulness or dreamed of 
climbing precipices, and set off to realize their dreams with 

325 the earliest peep of dawn. But Matthew and Hannah, after 
their calm rest, were as light as two young deer, and 
merely stopped to say their prayers and wash themselves in 
a cold pool of the Amonoosuck and then to taste a morsel 
of food ere they turned their faces to the mountain-side. It 

aso was a sweet emblem of conjugal affection as they toiled up 
the difficult ascent gathering strength from the mutual aid 
which they afforded. 

After several little accidents, such as a torn robe, a lost 
shoe and the entanglement of Hannah's hair in a bough, 

335 they reached the upper verge of the forest and were now 
to pursue a more adventurous course. The innumerable 



THE GREAT CARBUNCLE. 1 9 

trunks and heavy foliage of the trees had hitherto shut in 
their thoughts, which now shrank affrighted from the region 
of wind and cloud, and naked rocks, and desolate sunshine 

340 that rose immeasurably above them. They gazed back at the 
obscure wilderness which they had traversed, and longed to 
be buried again in its depths rather than trust themselves to 
so vast and visible a solitude. 

" Shall we go on ? " said Matthew, throwing his arm around 

345 Hannah's waist both to protect her and to comfort his heart 
by drawing her close to it. 

But the little bride, simple as she was, had a woman's love 
of jewels, and could not forego the hope of possessing the 
very brightest in the world, in spite of the perils with which 

350 it must be won. 

"Let us climb a little higher," whispered she, yet tremu- 
lously, as she turned her face upward to the lonely sky. 

"Come, then," said Matthew, mustering his manly cour- 
age and drawing her along with him ; for she became timid 

355 again the moment that he grew bold. 

And upward, accordingly, went the pilgrims of the Great 
Carbuncle, now treading upon the tops and thickly inter- 
woven branches of dwarf pines which by the growth of cen- 
turies, though mossy with age, had barely reached three feet 

360 in altitude. Next they came to masses and fragments of 
naked rock, heaped confusedly together like a cairn reared 
by giants in memory of a giant chief. In this bleak realm 
of upper air nothing breathed, nothing grew ; there was no 
life but what was concentred in their two hearts ; they had 

365 climbed so high that nature herself seemed no longer to 
keep them company. She lingered beneath them within 
the verge of the forest-trees, and sent a farewell glance after 
her children as they strayed where her own green footprints 
had never been. But soon they were to be hidden from her 

370 eye. Densely and dark the mists began to gather below, 
casting black spots of shadow on the vast landscape and 



'20 THE GREAT CARBUNCLE. 

sailing heavily to one center, as if the loftiest mountain-peak 
had summoned a council of its kindred clouds. Finally the 
vapors welded themselves, as it were, into a mass, present- 

375 ing the appearance of a pavement over which the wanderers 
might have trodden, but where they would vainly have 
sought an avenue to the blessed earth which they had lost. 
And the lovers yearned to behold that green earth again — 
more intensely, alas ! than, beneath a clouded sky, they had 

380 ever desired a glimpse of heaven. They even felt it a 
relief to their desolation when the mists, creeping gradually 
up the mountain, concealed its lonely peak, and thus annihi- 
lated — at least, for them — the whole region of visible space. 
But they drew closer together with a fond and melancholy 

385 gaze, dreading lest the universal cloud should snatch them 
from each other's sight. Still, perhaps, they would have 
been resolute to climb as far and as high, between earth and 
heaven, as they could find foothold, if Hannah's strength had 
not begun to fail, and with that her courage also. Her 

390 breath grew short. She refused to burden her husband with 
her weight, but often tottered against his side, and recovered 
herself each time by a feebler effort. At last she sank down 
on one of the rocky steps of the acclivity. 

" We are lost, dear Matthew," said she, mournfully ; 

395 " we shall never find our way to the earth again. And oh, 
how happy we might have been in our cottage ! " 

" Dear heart, w r e will yet be happy there," answered 
Matthew. " Look ! In this direction the sunshine pene- 
trates the dismal mist ; by its aid I can direct our course to 

400 the passage of the Notch. Let us go back, love, and dream 
no more of the Great Carbuncle." 

"The sun cannot be yonder," said Hannah, with despon- 
dence. By this time it must be noon; if there could ever 
be any sunshine here, it would come from above our 

405 heads." 

" But look ! " repeated Matthew, in a somewhat altered 



THE GREAT CARBUNCLE. 21 

tone. " It is brightening every moment. If not sunshine, 
what can it be ? " 

Nor could the young bride any longer deny that a radiance 

4io was breaking through the mist and changing its dim hue to 
a dusky red, which continually grew more vivid, as if bril- 
liant particles were interfused with the gloom. Now, also, 
the cloud began to roll away from the mountain, while, as it 
heavily withdrew, one object after another started out of its 

415 impenetrable obscurity into sight, with precisely the effect of 
a new creation, before the indistinctness of the old chaos had 
been completely swallowed up. As the process went on they 
saw the gleaming of water close at their feet, and found 
themselves on the very border of a mountain-lake, deep, 

4-20 bright, clear and calmly beautiful, spreading from brim to 
brim of a basin that had been scooped out of the solid rock. 
A ray of glory flashed across its surface. The pilgrims 
looked whence it should proceed, but closed their eyes, with 
a thrill of awful admiration,, to exclude the fervid splendor 

4-25 that glowed from the brow of a cliff, impending over the en- 
chanted lake. 

For the simple pair had reached that lake of mystery and 
found the long-sought shrine of the Great Carbuncle. They 
threw their arms around each other and trembled at their 

430 own success, for as the legends of this wondrous gem rushed 
thick upon their memory they felt themselves marked out by 
fate, and the consciousness was fearful. Often, from child- 
hood upward, they had seen it shining like a distant star, and 
now that star was throwing its intensest luster on their hearts. 

433 They seemed changed to one another's eyes in the red 
brilliancy that flamed upon their cheeks, while it lent the 
same fire to the lake, the rocks and sky, and to the mists 
which had rolled back before its power. But with their next 
glance they beheld an object that drew their attention even 

440 from the mighty stone. At the base of the cliff, directly 
beneath the Great Carbuncle, appeared the figure of a man 



22 THE GREAT CARBUNCLE. 

with his arms extended in the act of climbing and his face 
turned upward as if to drink the full gush of splendor. But 
he stirred not, no more than if changed to marble. 

445 " It is the Seeker/' whispered Hannah, convulsively grasp- 
ing her husband's arm. " Matthew, he is dead." 
. "The joy of success has killed him," replied Matthew, 
trembling violently. " Or perhaps the very light of the 
Great Carbuncle was death." 

450 " The Great Carbuncle ! " cried a peevish voice behind 
them. " The great humbug ! If you have found it, prithee 
point it out to me." 

They turned their heads, and there was the cynic with 
his prodigious spectacles set carefully on his nose, staring 

455 now at the lake, now at the rocks, now at the distant masses 
of vapor, now right at the Great Carbuncle itself, yet seem- 
ingly as unconscious of its light ,as if all the scattered clouds 
were condensed about his person. Though its radiance 
actually threw the shadow of . the unbeliever at his own feet 

460 as he turned his back upon the glorious jewel, he would not 
be convinced that there was the least glimmer there. 

" Where is your great humbug ? " he repeated. " I chal- 
lenge you to make me see it." 

"There ! " said Matthew, incensed at such perverse blind- 

465 ness, and turning the cynic round toward the illuminated 
cliff. " Take off those abominable spectacles, and you 
cannot help seeing it." 

Now, these colored spectacles probably darkened the 
cynic's sight in at least as great a degree as the smoked 

470 glasses through which people gaze at an eclipse. With 
resolute bravado, however, he snatched them from his nose 
and fixed a bold stare full upon the ruddy blaze of the Great 
Carbuncle. But scarcely had he encountered it when, with 
a deep, shuddering groan, he dropped his head and pressed 

475 both hands across his miserable eyes. Thenceforth there 
was in very truth no light of the Great Carbuncle, nor any 



THE GREAT CARBUNCLE. 23 

other light on earth, nor light of heaven itself, for the poor 
cynic. So long accustomed to view all objects through a 
medium that deprived them of every glimpse of brightness, 

480 a single flash of so glorious a phenomenon, striking upon his 
naked vision, had blinded him forever. 

" Matthew," said Hannah, clinging to him, " let us go 
hence." 

Matthew saw that she was faint,- and, kneeling down, 

485 supported her in his arms while he threw some of the thrill- 
ingly-cold water of the enchanted lake upon her face and 
bosom. It revived her, but could not renovate her courage. 

"Yes, dearest," cried Matthew, pressing her tremulous 
form to his breast ; " we will go hence and return to our 

490 humble cottage. The blessed sunshine and the quiet moon- 
light shall come through our window. We will kindle the 
cheerful glow of our hearth at eventide and be happy in 
its light. But never again will we desire more light than all 
the world may share with us." 

495 " No," said his bride, " for how could we live by day or 
sleep by night in this awful blaze of the Great Carbuncle ! " 

Out of the hollow of their hands they drank each a 
draught from the lake, which presented them its waters 
uncontaminated by an earthly lip. Then, lending their guid- 

500 ance to the blinded cynic, who uttered not a word, and even 
stifled his groans in his own most wretched heart, they 
began to descend the mountain. Yet as they left the shore, 
till then untrodden, of the spirit's lake, they threw a farewell 
glance toward the cliff and beheld the vapors gathering in 

505 dense volumes, through which the gem burned duskily. 

As touching the other pilgrims of the Great Carbuncle, 
the legend goes on to tell that the worshipful Master Icha- 
bod Pigsnort soon gave up the quest as a desperate specula- 
tion, and wisely resolved to betake himself again to his 

510 warehouse, near the town-dock in Boston. But as he 
passed through the notch of the mountains a war-party of In- 



24 THE GREAT CARBUNCLE. 

dians captured our unlucky merchant and carried him to 
Montreal, there holding him in bondage till, by the payment 
of a heavy ransom, he had wofully subtracted from his hoard 

515 of pine-tree shillings. By his long absence, moreover, his 
affairs had become so disordered that for the rest of his life, 
instead of wallowing in silver, he had seldom a sixpence- 
worth of copper. Dr. Cacaphodel, the alchemist, returned to 
his laboratory with a prodigious fragment of granite, which 

520 he ground to powder, dissolved in acids, melted in the 
crucible and burnt with the blowpipe, and published the 
result of his experiments in one of the heaviest folios of the 
day. And for all these purposes the gem itself could not 
have answered better than the granite. The poet, by a 

525 somewhat similar mistake, made prize of a great piece of ice 
which he found in a sunless chasm of the mountains, and 
swore that it corresponded in. all points with his idea of the 
Great Carbuncle. The critics say that, if his poetry lacked 
the splendor of the gem, it retained all the coldness of the 

530 ice. The lord De Vere went back to his ancestral hall, 
where he contented himself with a wax-lighted chandelier, 
and filled in due course of time another coffin in the ances- 
tral vault. As the funeral torches gleamed within that dark 
receptacle, there was no need of the Great Carbuncle to 

535 show the vanity of earthly pomp. 

The cynic, having cast aside his spectacles, wandered 
about the world a miserable object, and was punished with 
an agonizing desire of light for the willful blindness of his 
former life. The whole night long he would lift his splen- 

540 dor-blasted orbs to the moon and stars ; he turned his face 
eastward at sunrise as duly as a Persian idolater ; he made a 
pilgrimage to Rome to witness the magnificent illumination 
of Saint Peter's church, and finally perished in the Great 
Fire of London, into the midst of which he had thrust 

545 himself with the desperate idea of catching one feeble ray 
from the blaze that was kindling earth and heaven. 



THE GREA T CA RB UNCLE. 2 5 

Matthew and his bride spent many peaceful years and 
were fond of telling the legend of the Great Carbuncle. 
The tale, however, toward the close of their lengthened lives, 

550 did not meet with the full credence that had been accorded 
to it by those who remembered the ancient luster of the gem. 
For it is affirmed that, from the hour when two mortals 
had shown themselves so simply wise as to reject a jewel 
which would have dimmed all earthly things, its splendor 

555 waned. When our pilgrims reached the cliff, they found 
only an opaque stone with particles of mica glittering on its 
surface. There is also a tradition that, as the youthful pair 
departed, the gem was loosened from the forehead of the 
cliff and fell into the enchanted lake, and that at noontide 

560 the Seeker's form may still be seen to bend over its quench- 
less gleam. 

Some few believe that this inestimable stone is blazing as of 
old, and say that they have caught its radiance like a flash 
of summer lightning, far down the valley of the Saco. 

£65 And be it owned that, many a mile from the Crystal Hills, 
I saw a wondrous light around their summits, and was 
lured by the faith of poesy to be the latest pilgrim of the 
Great Carbuncle. 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 

BY 

WASHINGTON IRVING. 
PART I. 

In the early time of the province of New York, while it 
groaned under the tyranny of the English governor, Lord 
Cornbury, who carried his cruelties toward the Dutch inhabi- 
tants so far as to allow no Dominie, or schoolmaster, to offici- 

5 ate in their language, without his special license ; about this 
time, there lived in the jolly little old city of the Manhattoes, a 
kind, motherly dame, known by the name of Dame Heyliger. 
She was the widow of a Dutch .sea-captain, who died suddenly 
of a fever, in consequence of working too hard, and eating 

10 too heartily, at the time when all the inhabitants turned out 
in a panic, to fortify the place against the invasion of a small 
French privateer. He left her with very little money, and 
one infant son, the only survivor of several children. The 
good woman had need of much management to make both 

15 ends meet, and keep up a decent appearance. However, as 
her husband had fallen a victim to his zeal for the public 
safety, it was universally agreed that " something ought to be 
done for the widow ; " and on the hopes of this " something " 
she lived tolerably for some years ; in the mean time every- 

20 body pitied and spoke well of her, and that helped along. 

She lived in a small house, in a small street, called Garden 
Street, very probably from a garden which may have flour- 
ished there some time or other. As her necessities every year 
grew greater, and the talk of the public about doing " some- 

25 thing for her " grew less, she had to cast about for some 

26 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 2J 

mode of doing something for herself, by way of helping out 
her slender means, and maintaining her independence, of 
which she was somewhat tenacious. 

Living in a mercantile town, she had caught something of 

30 the spirit, and determined to venture a little in the great 
lottery of commerce. On a sudden, therefore, to the great 
surprise of the street, there appeared at her window a grand 
array of gingerbread kings and queens, with their arms stuck 
akimbo, after the invariable royal manner. There were also 

35 several broken tumblers, some filled with sugar-plums, some 
with marbles ; there were moreover, cakes of various kinds, 
and barley-sugar, and Holland dolls, and wooden horses, 
with here and there gilt-covered picture-books, and now and 
then a skein' of thread, or a dangling pound of candles. At 

40 the door of the house sat the good old dame's cat, a decent, 
demure-looking personage, who seemed to scan everybody 
that passed, to criticise their dress, and now and then to 
stretch her neck, and to look out with sudden curiosity, to see 
what was going on at the other end of the street ; but if by 

45 chance any idle, vagabond dog came by, and offered to be un- 
civil — hoity-toity ! — how she would bristle up, and growl, and 
spit, and strike out her paws ! 

But though the good woman had to come down to those 
humble means of subsistence, yet she still kept up a feeling 

50 of family pride, being descended from the Vanderspiegels, of 
Amsterdam ; and she had the family arms painted and 
framed, and hung over her mantel-piece. She was, in truth, 
much respected by all the poorer people of the place ; her 
house was quite a resort of the old wives of the neighbor- 

55 hood ; they would drop in there of a winter's afternoon, as 
she sat knitting on one side of her fireplace, her cat purring 
on the other, and the tea-kettle singing before it ; and they 
would gossip with her until late in the evening. There was 
always an arm-chair for Peter de Groodt, sometimes called 

60 Long Peter, and sometimes Peter Longlegs, the clerk and 



2 8 DOLPH HE YLIGER. 

sexton of the little Lutheran church, who was her great crony, 
and indeed the oracle of her fireside. Nay, the Dominie him- 
self did not disdain, now and then, to step in, converse about 
the state of her mind, and take a glass of her special good 

65 cherry-brandy. Indeed, he never failed to call on New 

Year's day, and wish her a happy New Year ; and the good 

dame, who was a little vain on some points, always piqued 

herself on giving him as large a cake as any one in town. 

I have said that she had one son. He was the child of her 

70 old age ; but could hardly be called the comfort, for, of all 
unlucky urchins, Dolph Heyliger was the most mischievous. 
Not that the whipster was really vicious ; he was only full of 
fun and frolic, and had that daring, gamesome spirit, which 
is extolled in a rich man's child, but execrated in a poor 

75 man's. He was continually getting into scrapes ; his mother 
was incessantly harassed with complaints of some waggish 
pranks which he had played off ; bills were sent in for win- 
dows that he had broken ; in a word, he had not reached his 
fourteenth year before he was pronounced, by all the neigh- 

80 borhood, to be a " wicked dog, the wickedest dog in the 
street ! " Nay, one old gentleman, in a claret-colored coat, 
with a thin, red face, and ferret eyes, went so far as to assure 
Dame Heyliger, that her son would, one day or other, come 
to the gallows. 

85 Yet, notwithstanding all this, the poor old soul loved her 
boy. It seemed as though she loved him the better the worse 
he behaved ; and that he grew more in her favor, the more 
he grew out of favor with the world. Mothers are foolish, 
fond-hearted beings ; there's no reasoning them out of their 

90 dotage ; and, indeed, this poor woman's child was all that 
was left to love her in this world ; — so we must not think it 
hard that she turned a deaf ear to her good friends, 
who sought to prove to her that Dolph would come to a 
halter. 

95 To do the varlet justice, too, he was strongly attached to his 



DOLPH HE YLIGER. 2§ 

parent. He would not willingly have given her pain on any 
account ; and when he had been doing wrong, it was but for 
him to catch his poor mother's eye fixed wistfully and sorrow- 
fully upon him, to fill his heart with bitterness and contrition. 

100 But he was a heedless youngster, and could not, for the life 
of him, resist any new temptation to fun and mischief. 
Though quick at his learning, whenever he could be brought 
to. apply himself, he was always prone to be led away by idle 
company, and would play truant to hunt after birds' nests, to 

105 rob orchards, or to swim in the Hudson. 

In this way he grew up, a tall, lubberly boy ; and his 
mother began to be greatly perplexed what to do with him, 
or how to put him in a way to do for himself ; for he had 
acquired such an unlucky reputation, that no one seemed 

no willing to employ him. 

Many were the consultations that she held with Peter de 
Groodt, the clerk and sexton, who was her prime counselor. 
Peter was as much perplexed as herself, for he had no great 
opinion of the boy, and thought he would never come to good. 

115 He at one time advised her to send him to sea ; a piece of 
advice only given in the most desperate cases ; but Dame 
Heyliger would not listen to such an idea ; she could not 
think of letting Dolph go out of her sight. She was sitting 
one day knitting by her fireside, in great perplexity, when the 

120 sexton entered with an air of unusual vivacity and briskness. 
He had just come from a funeral. It had been that of a boy 
of Dolph's years, who had been apprentice to a famous Ger- 
man doctor, and had died of a consumption. It is true, there 
had been a whisper that the deceased had been brought to 

125 his end by being made the subject of the doctor's experi- 
ments, on which he was apt to try the effect of a new com- 
pound, or a quieting draught. This, however, it is likely, was 
a mere scandal ; at any rate, Peter de Groodt did not think 
it worth mentioning ; though, had we time to philosophize, it 

130 would be a curious matter for speculation, why a doctor's 



30 DOLPH HE YLIGER. 

family is apt to be so lean and cadaverous, and a butcher's 
so jolly and rubicund. 

Peter de Groodt, as I said before, entered the house of 
Dame Heyliger with unusual alacrity. A bright idea had 

135 popped into his head at the funeral, over which he had 
chuckled as he shoveled the earth into the grave of the 
doctor's disciple. It had occurred to him, that, as the situa- 
tion of the deceased was vacant at the doctor's, it would be 
the very place for Dolph. The boy had parts, and could 

140 pound a pestle, and run an errand with any boy in the town, 
and what more was wanted in a student ? 

The suggestion of the sage Peter was a vision of glory to 
the mother. She already saw Dolph, in her mind's eye, with 
a cane at his nose, a knocker at his door, and an M. D. at 

145 the end of his name — one of the established dignitaries of the 
town. 

The matter, once undertaken, was soon effected : the sex- 
ton had some influence with the doctor, they having had 
much dealing together in the way of their separate profes- 

150 sions ; and the very next morning he called and conducted 
the urchin, clad in his Sunday clothes, to undergo the inspec- 
tion of Dr. Karl Lodovick Knipperhausen. 

They found the doctor seated. in an elbow-chair, in one 
corner of his study, or laboratory, with a large volume, in 

155 German print, before him. He was a short, fat man, with a 
dark, square face, rendered more dark by a black velvet cap. 
He had a little nobbed nose, not unlike the ace of spades, 
with a pair of spectacles gleaming on each side of his dusky 
countenance, like a couple of bow-windows. 

160 Dolph felt struck with awe on entering into the presence 
of this learned man ; and gazed about him with boyish won- 
der at the furniture of this chamber of knowledge, which 
appeared to him almost as the den of a magician. In the 
center stood a claw-footed table, with pestle and mortar, 

165 phials and gallipots, and a pair of small burnished scales. 



DOLPH HE YLIGER. 3 1 

At one end was a heavy clothes-press, turned into a recepta- 
cle for drugs and compounds ; against which hung the doc- 
tor's hat and cloak, and gold-headed cane, and on the top 
grinned a human skull. Along the mantel-piece were glass 

170 vessels, in which were snakes and lizards. A closet, the 
doors of which were taken off, contained three whole shelves 
of books, and some, too, of mighty folio dimensions; a col- 
lection, the like of which Dolph had never before beheld. 
As, however, the library did not take up the whole of the 

175 closet, the doctor's thrifty housekeeper had occupied the 
rest with pots of pickles and preserves ; and had hung about 
the room, among awful implements of the healing art, strings 
of red pepper and corpulent cucumbers, carefully preserved 
for seed. 

180 Peter de Groodt and his protege were received with great 
gravity and stateliness by the doctor, who was a very wise, 
dignified little man, and never smiled. He surveyed Dolph 
from head to foot, above, and under, and through his specta- 
cles, and the poor lad's heart quailed as these great glasses 

185 glared on him like two full moons. The doctor heard all that 
Peter de Groodt had to say in favor of the youthful candi- 
date ; and then wetting his thumb with the end of his tongue, 
he began deliberately to turn over page after page of the 
great black volume before him. At length, after many hums 

190 and haws, and strokings of the chin, and all that hesitation 
and deliberation with which a wise man proceeds to do what 
he intended to do from the very first, the doctor agreed to 
take the lad as a disciple ; to give him bed, board, and cloth- 
ing, and to instruct him in the healing art; in return for 

195 which he was to have his services until his twenty-first 
year. 

Behold, then, our hero, all at once transformed from an 
unlucky urchin, running wild about the streets, to a student 
of medicine, diligently pounding a pestle, under the auspices 

200 of the learned Dr. Karl Lodovick Knipperhausen. It was a 



3 2 DOLPH HE YLIGER. 

happy transition for his fond old mother. She was delighted 
with the idea of her boy's being brought up worthy of his 
ancestors ; and anticipated the day when he would be able to 
hold up his head with the lawyer that lived in the large 

205 house opposite ; or peradventure, with the Dominie himself. 
Dr. Knipperhausen was a native of the Palatinate in 
Germany ; whence, in company with many of his countrymen, 
he had taken refuge in England, on account of religious per- 
secution. He was one of nearly three thousand Palatines, 

210 who came over from England in 17 10, under the protection 
of Governor Hunter. Where the doctor had studied, how he 
had acquired his medical knowledge, and where he had 
received his diploma, it is hard at present to say, for nobody 
knew at the time ; yet it is certain that his profound skill 

215 and abstruse knowledge were the talk and wonder of the 
common people, far and near. 

His practice was totally different from that of any other 
physician; consisting in mysterious compounds, known only 
to himself, in the preparing and administering of which, it 

220 was said, he always consulted the stars. So high an opinion 
was entertained of his skill, particularly by the German and 
Dutch inhabitants, that they always resorted to him in des- 
perate cases. He was one of those infallible doctors, that 
are always effecting sudden and surprising cures, when the 

225 patient has been given up by all the regular physicians ; 
unless, as is shrewdly observed, the case has been left too 
long before it was put into their hands. The doctor's library 
was the talk and marvel of the neighborhood, I might almost 
say of the entire burgh. The good people looked with 

230 reverence at a man who had read three whole shelves full of 
books, and some of them, too, as large as a family Bible. 
There were many disputes among the members of the little 
Lutheran church, as to which was the wisest man, the doctor 
or the Dominie. Some of his admirers even went so far as 

235 to say, that he knew more than the governor himself — in a 



DOLPH HE YLIGER. 3 3 

word, it was thought that there was no end to his knowl- 
edge! 

No sooner was Dolph received into the doctor's family, than 
he was put in possession of the lodging of his predecessor. 

240 It was a garret-room of a steep-roofed Dutch house, where 
the rain had pattered on the shingles, and the lightning 
gleamed, and the wind piped through the crannies in stormy 
weather ; and where whole troops of hungry rats, like Don 
Cossacks, galloped about, in defiance of traps and ratsbane. 

245 He was soon up to his ears in medical studies, being em- 
ployed, morning, noon, and night, in rolling pills, filtering 
tinctures, or pounding the pestle and mortar in one corner 
of the laboratory ; while the doctor would take his seat in 
another corner, when he had nothing else to do, or expected 

250 visitors, and, arrayed in his morning-gown and velvet cap, 
would pore over the contents of some folio volume. It is 
true, that the regular thumping of Dolph's pestle, or, per- 
haps, the drowsy buzzing of the summer flies, would now and 
then lull the little man into a slumber ; but then his spectacles 

255 were always wide awake, and studiously regarding the book. 

There was another personage in the house, however, to 

whom Dolph was obliged to pay allegiance. Though a 

bachelor, and a man of such great dignity and importance, 

the doctor was, like many other wise men, subject to petti- 

260 coat government. He was completely under the sway of 
his housekeeper; a spare, busy, fretting housewife, in a 
little, round, quilted German cap, with a huge bunch of keys 
jingling at the girdle of an exceedingly long waist. Frau Use 
(or Frow Ilsy, as it was pronounced) had accompanied him 

265 in his various migrations from Germany to England, and 
from England to the province ; managing his establishment 
and himself too ; ruling him, it is true, with a gentle hand, 
but carrying a high hand with all the world beside. How 
she had acquired such ascendency I do not pretend to say. 

270 Indeed, Frau Ilsy's power was not confined to the doctor's 

3 



34 DOLPH HE YLIGER. 

household. She was one of those prying gossips who know 
every one's business better than they do themselves ; and 
whose all-seeing eyes, and all-telling tongues, are terrors 
throughout a neighborhood. 

275 Nothing of any moment transpired in the world of scandal 
of this little burgh, but it was known to Frau Ilsy. She had 
her crew of cronies, that were perpetually hurrying to her 
little parlor with some precious bit of news ; nay, she would 
sometimes discuss a whole volume of secret history, as she 

280 held the street door ajar, and gossiped with one of these 
garrulous cronies in the very teeth of a December blast. 

Between the doctor and the housekeeper it may easily be 

supposed that Dolph had a busy life of it. As Frau llsy 

• kept the keys, and literally ruled the roast, it was starvation 

285 to offend her, though he found the study of her temper more 
perplexing even than that of medicine. When not busy in 
the laboratory, she kept him running hither and thither on 
her errands ; and on Sundays he was obliged to accompany 
her to and from church, and carry her Bible. Many a time 

290 has the poor varlet stood shivering and blowing his fingers, 
or holding his frost-bitten nose, in the church-yard, while 
Ilsy and her cronies were huddled together, wagging their 
heads, and tearing some unlucky character to pieces. 

With all his advantages, however, Dolph made very slow 

295 progress in his art. This was no fault of the doctor's, cer- 
tainly, for he took unwearied pains with the lad, keeping him 
close to the pestle and mortar, or on the trot about town 
with phials and pill-boxes; and if he ever flagged in his in- 
dustry, which he was rather apt to do, the doctor would fly 

300 into a passion, and ask him if he ever expected to learn his 
profession, unless he applied himself closer to the study. 
The fact is, he still retained the fondness for sport and mis- 
chief that had marked his childhood ; the habit, indeed, had 
strengthened with his years, and gained force from being 

305 thwarted and constrained. He daily grew more and more 



DO LP II HEYLIGER. 35 

untractable, and lost favor in the eyes, both of the doctor 
and the housekeeper. 

In the mean time the doctor went on, waxing wealthy and 
renowned. He was famous for his skill in managing cases 

310 not laid down in the books. He had cured several old 
women and young girls of witchcraft ; a terrible complaint, 
and nearly as prevalent in the province in those days as 
hydrophobia is at present. 

As the doctor increased in wealth, he began to extend his 

315 possessions, and to look forward, like other great men, to the 
time when he should retire to the repose of a country seat. 
For this purpose he had purchased a farm, or, as the Dutch 
settlers called it, a bowerie, a few miles from town. It had 
been the residence of a wealthy family, that had returned 

320 some time since to Holland. A large mansion house stood 
in the center of it, very much out of repair, and which, in 
consequence of certain reports, had received the appellation 
of the haunted house. Either from these reports, or from its 
actual dreariness, the doctor found it impossible to get a ten- 

325 ant ; and that the place might not fall to ruin before he 
could reside in it himself, he placed a country boor, with his 
family, in one wing, with the privilege of cultivating the farm 
on shares. 

The doctor now felt all the dignity of a landholder rising 

330 within him. He had a little of the German pride of territory 
in his composition, and almost looked upon himself as owner 
of a principality. He began to complain of the fatigue of 
business ; and was fond of riding out "to look at his estate." 
His little expeditions to his lands were attended with a 

335 bustle and parade that created a sensation through the 
neighborhood. His wall-eyed horse stood, stamping and 
whisking off the flies, for a full hour before the house. 
Then the doctor's saddle-bags would be brought out and 
adjusted ; then, after a little while, his cloak would be rolled 

340 up and strapped to the saddle ; then his umbrella would be 



36 DOLPH HEYLIGER. 

buckled to the cloak ; while, in the mean time, a group of 
ragged boys, that observant class of beings, would gather 
before the door. At length the doctor would issue forth, in 
a pair* of jack boots that reached above his knees, and a 

345 cocked hat flapped down in front. As he was a short, fat 
man, he took some time to mount into the saddle ; and when 
there, he took some time to have the saddle and stirrups 
properly adjusted, enjoying the wonder and admiration of 
the urchin crowd. Even after he had set off, he would pause 

350 in the middle of the street, or trot back two or three times to 
give some parting orders ; which were answered by the 
housekeeper from the door, or Dolph from the study, or the 
black cook from the cellar, or the chambermaid from the 
garret window ; and there were generally some last words 

355 bawled after him, just as he was turning the corner. 

The whole neighborhood would be aroused by this pomp 
and circumstance. The cobbler would leave his last; the 
barber would thrust out his frizzled head, with a comb stick- 
ing in it ; a knot would collect at the grocer's door, and the 

360 word would be buzzed from one end of the street to the 
other, " The doctor's riding out to his country seat ! " 

These were golden moments for Dolph. No sooner was 
the doctor out of sight, than pestle and mortar were aban- 
doned ; the laboratory was left to take care of itself, and the 

365 student was off on some madcap frolic. 

Indeed, it must be confessed, the youngster, as he grew up, 
seemed in a fair way to fulfil the prediction of the old claret- 
colored gentleman. He was the ringleader of all holiday 
sports, and midnight gambols; ready for all kinds of mis- 

370 chievous pranks, and hair-brained adventures. 

There is nothing so troublesome as a hero on a small 
scale, or, rather, a hero in a small town. Dolph soon 
became the abhorrence of all drowsy, housekeeping old 
citizens, who hated noise, and had no relish for waggery. 

375 The good dames, too, considered him as little better than a 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 37 

reprobate, gathered their daughters under their wings when- 
ever he approached, and pointed him out as a warning to their 
sons. No one seemed to hold him in much regard, except 
the wild striplings of the place, who were captivated by his 

330 open-hearted, daring manners, and the negroes, who always 
look upon every idle, dp-nothing youngster, as a kind of gen- 
tleman. Even the good Peter de Groodt, who had considered 
himself a kind of patron of the lad, began to despair of him, 
and would shake his head dubiously, as he listened to a long 

3S5 complaint from the housekeeper, and sipped a glass of her 
raspberry brandy. 

Still his mother was not to be wearied out of her affection 
by all the waywardness of her boy ; nor disheartened by the 
stories of his misdeeds, with which her good friends were 

390 continually regaling her. She had, it is true, very little of 
the pleasure which rich people enjoy, in always hearing their 
children praised ; but she considered all this ill-will as a kind 
of persecution which he suffered, and she liked him the better 
on that account. She saw him growing up a fine, tall, good- 

395 looking youngster, and she looked at him with the secret 
pride of a mother's heart. It was her great desire that 
Dolph should appear like a gentleman, and all the money 
she could save went towards helping out his pocket and his 
wardrobe. She would look out of the window after him, as 

400 he sallied forth in his best array, and her heart would yearn 
with delight ; and once, when Peter de Groodt, struck with 
the youngster's gallant appearance on a bright Sunday 
morning, observed, "Well, after all, Dolph does grow a 
comely fellow 1 " the tear of pride started into the mother's 

405 eye ; " Ah, neighbor ! neighbor ! "'exclaimed she, " they may 
say what they please , poor Dolph will yet hold up his head 
with the best of them ! " 

Dolph Heyliger had now nearly attained his one-and- 
twentieth year, and the term of his medical studies was just 

410 expiring ; yet it must be confessed, that he knew little more 



3 8 DOLPH HE YLIGER. 

of the profession than when he first entered the doctor's 
doors. This, however, could not be from any want of quick- 
ness of parts, for he showed amazing aptness in mastering 
other branches of knowledge, which he could only have studied 

415 at intervals. He was, for instance, a sure marksman, and 
won all the geese and turkeys at Christmas holidays. He 
was a bold rider ; he was famous for leaping and wrestling ; 
he played tolerably on the fiddle ; could swim like a fish ; 
and was the best hand in the whole place at fives or nine- 

420 pins. 

All these accomplishments, however, procured him no 
favor in the eyes of the doctor, who grew more and more 
crabbed and intolerant the nearer the term of apprenticeship 
approached. Frau Ilsy, too, was forever finding some 

425 occasion to raise a windy tempest about his ears; and seldom 
encountered him about the house, without a clatter of the 
tongue ; so that at length the jingling of her keys as she 
approached, was to Dolph like the ringing of the prompter's 
bell, that gives notice of a theatrical thunder-storm. Noth- 

430 ing but the infinite good humor of the heedless youngster 
enabled him to bear all this domestic tyranny without open 
rebellion. It was evident that the doctor and his house- 
keeper were preparing to beat the poor youth out of the nest, 
the moment his term should have expired ; a short-hand 

435 mode which the doctor had of providing for useless disci- 
ples. 

Indeed the little man had been rendered more than usu- 
ally irritable lately, in consequence of various cares and 
vexations which his country estate had brought upon him. 

440 The doctor -had been repeatedly annoyed by the rumors and 
tales which prevailed concerning the old mansion ; and found 
if difficult to prevail even upon the countryman and his 
family to remain there rent free. Every time he rode out to 
the farm he was teased by some fresh complaint of strange 

445 noises and fearful sights, with which the tenants were dis- 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 39 

turbed at night; and the doctor would come home fretting 
and fuming, and vent his spleen upon the whole household. 
It was indeed a sore grievance that affected him both in 
pride and purse. He was threatened with an absolute loss 

450 of the profits of his property ; and then, what a blow to his 
territorial consequence, to be the landlord of a haunted 
house ! 

It was observed, however, that with all his vexations, the 
doctor never proposed to sleep in the house himself; nay, 

455 he could never be prevailed upon to remain on the premises 
after dark, but made the best of his way for town as soon as 
the bats began to flit about in the twilight. The fact was, 
the doctor had a secret belief in ghosts, having passed the 
early part of his life in a country where they particularly 

460 abound; and indeed the story went, that, when a boy, he 
had once seen the devil upon the Hartz Mountains in Ger- 
many. 

At length the doctor's vexations on this head were brought 
to a crisis. One morning as he sat dozing over a volume in 

465 his study, he was suddenly startled from his slumbers by the 
bustling in of the housekeeper. 

" Here's a fine to do ! " cried she, as she entered the 
room. " Here's Claus Hopper come in, bag and baggage 
from the farm, and swears he'll have nothing more to 

470 do with it. The whole family have been frightened out of 
their wits ; for there's such racketing and rummaging about 
the old house, that they can't sleep quiet in their beds ! " 

"Donner and blitzen ! " cried the doctor, impatiently; 
"will they never have done chattering about that house? 

475 What a pack of fools, to let a few rats and mice frighten 
them out of good quarters ! " 

"Nay, nay," said the housekeeper, wagging her head 
knowingly, and piqued at having a good ghost story doubted, 
" there's more in it than rats and mice. All the neighbor- 

4£0 hood talks about the house ; and then such sights as have 



40 DOLPH HEYLIGER. 

been seen in it ! Peter de Groodt tells me, that the family 
that sold you the house, and went to Holland, dropped sev- 
eral strange hints about it, and said, ' they wished you joy of 
your bargain' ; and you know yourself there's no getting any 

485 family to live in it." 

" Peter de Groodt's a ninny — an old woman," said the 
doctor, peevishly ; " I'll warrant he's been filling these 
people's heads full of stories. It's just like his nonsense 
about the ghost that haunted the church belfry, as an excuse 

490 for not ringing the bell that cold night when Harmanus 
BrinkerhofFs house was on fire. Send Glaus to me." 

Claus Hopper now made his appearance : a simple coun- 
try lout, full of awe at finding himself in the very study of 
Dr. Knipperhausen, and too much embarrassed to enter into 

m much detail of the matters that had caused his alarm. He 
stood twirling his hat in one hand, resting sometimes on one 
leg, sometimes on the other, looking occasionally at the doc- 
tor, and now and then stealing a fearful glance at the 
death's-head that seemed ogling him from the top of the 

500 clothes-press. 

The doctor tried every means to persuade him to return to 
the farm, but all in vain ; he maintained a clogged determin- 
ation on the subject ; and at the close of every argument or 
solicitation would make the same brief, inflexible reply, 

505 " Ich kan nicht, mynheer." The doctor was a " little pot, 
and soon hot ; " his patience was exhausted by these con- 
tinual vexations about his estate. The stubborn refusal of 
Claus Hopper seemed to him like flat rebellion, his temper 
suddenly boiled over, and Claus was glad to make a rapid 

510 retreat to escape scalding. 

When the bumpkin got to the housekeeper's room, he 
found Peter de Groodt, and several other true believers, 
ready to receive him. Here he indemnified himself for the 
restraint he had suffered in the study, and opened a budget 

515 of stories about the haunted house that astonished all his 



DOLPH HE YLIGER. 4 1 

hearers. The housekeeper believed them all, if it was only 
to spite the doctor for having received her intelligence so 
uncourteously. Peter de Groodt matched them with many a 
wonderful legend of the times of the Dutch dynasty, and of 

590 the Devil's Stepping-stones ; and of the pirate hanged at 
Gibbet Island, that continued to swing there at night long 
after the gallows was taken down ; and of the ghost of the 
unfortunate Governor Leisler, hanged for treason, which 
haunted the old fort and the government house. The gos- 

525 siping knot dispersed, each charged with direful intelligence. 
The sexton disburdened himself at a vestry meeting that 
was held that very day, and the black cook forsook her 
kitchen, and spent half the day at the street-pump, that gos- 
siping-place of servants, dealing forth the news to all that 

530 came for water. In a little time the whole town was in a 
buzz with tales about the haunted house. Some said that 
Claus Hopper had seen the devil, while others hinted that 
the house was haunted by the ghosts of some of the patients 
whom the doctor had physicked out of the world, and that 

535 was the reason why he did not venture to live in it himself. 
All this put the little doctor in a terrible fume. He threat- 
ened vengeance on any one who should affect the value of 
his property by exciting popular prejudices. He complained 
loudly of thus being in a manner dispossessed of his territo- 

540 ries by mere bugbears ; but he secretly determined to have 
the house exorcised by the Dominie. Great was his relief, 
therefore, when in the midst of his perplexities, Dolph 
stepped forward and undertook to garrison the haunted 
house. The youngster had been listening to all the stories 

545 of Claus Hopper and Peter de Groodt : he was fond of 
adventure, he loved the marvelous, and his imagination had 
become quite excited by these tales of wonder. Besides, he 
had led such an uncomfortable life at the doctor's, being 
subjected to the intolerable thralldom of early hours, that he 

550 was delighted at the prospect of having a house to himself. 



42 DOLPH HE YLIGER. 

even though it should be a haunted one. His offer was 
eagerly accepted, and it was determined he should mount 
guard that very night. His only stipulation was, that the 
enterprise should be kept secret from his mother; for he 

555 knew the poor soul would not sleep a wink if she knew her 
son was waging war with the powers of darkness. 

When night came on he set out on this perilous expedition. 
The old black cook, his only friend in the household, had 
provided him with a little mess for supper, and a rushlight ; 

560 and she tied round his neck an amulet, given her by an Afri- 
can conjuror, as a charm against evil spirits. Dolph was 
escorted on his way by the doctor and Peter de Groodt, 
who had agreed to accompany him to the house, and to see 
him safe lodged. The night was overcast, and it was very 

565 dark when they arrived at the grounds which surrounded the 
mansion. The sexton led the way with a lantern. As they 
walked along the avenue of acacias, the fitful light, catching 
from bush to bush, and tree to tree, often startled the 
doughty Peter, and made him fall back upon his followers ; 

570 and the doctor grappled still closer hold of Dolph's arm, 
observing that the ground was very slippery and uneven. 
At one time they were nearly put to total rout by a bat, 
which came flitting about the lantern ; and the notes of the 
insects from the trees, and the frogs from a neighboring 

575 pond, formed a most drowsy and doleful concert. 

The front door of the mansion opened with a grating 
sound, that made the doctor turn pale. They entered a 
tolerably large hall, such as is common in American country- 
houses, and which serves for a sitting-room in warm weather. 

580 From this they went up a wide staircase, that groaned and 
creaked as they trod, every step making its particular note, 
like the key of a harpsichord. This led to another hall on 
the second story, whence they entered the room where 
Dolph was to sleep. It was large, and scantily furnished, 

585 the shutters were closed ; but as they were much broken, 



DOLPH HE YLIGER. 43 

there was no want of a circulation of air. It appeared to 
have been that sacred chamber, known among Dutch house- 
wives by the name of " the best bed-room ; " which is the 
best furnished room in the house, but in which scarce any- 

590 body is ever permitted to sleep. Its splendor, however, was 

all at an end. There were a few broken articles of furniture 

about the room, and in the center stood a heavy deal table 

and a large arm-chair, both of which had the look of being 

m coeval with the mansion. The fireplace was wide, and had 

595 been faced with Dutch tiles, representing Scripture stories; 
but some of them had fallen out of their places and lay scat- 
tered about the hearth. The sexton lit the rush-light ; and 
the doctor, looking fearfully about the room, was just exhort- 
ing Dolph to be of good cheer, and to pluck up a stout 

600 heart, when a noise in the chimney, like voices in struggling, 
struck a sudden panic into the sexton. He took to his heels 
with the lantern ; the doctor followed hard after him ; the 
stairs groaned and creaked as they hurried down, increasing 
their agitation and speed by its noises. The front door 

605 slammed after them, and Dolph heard them scrabbling down 
the avenue, till the sound of their feet was lost in the dis- 
tance. That he did not join in this precipitate retreat might 
have been owing to his possessing a little more courage than 
his companions, or perhaps that he had caught a glimpse of 

6io the cause of their dismay, in a nest of chimney swallows 
that came tumbling down into the fireplace. 

Being now left to himself, he secured the front door by a 
strong bolt and bar; and having seen that the other 
entrances were fastened, returned to his desolate chamber. 

615 Having made his supper from the basket which the good old 
cook had provided, he locked the chamber door, and retired 
to rest on a mattress in one corner. The night was calm 
and still ; and nothing broke upon the profound quiet, but 
the lonely chirping of a cricket from the chimney of a dis- 

620 tan t chamber. The rush-light, which stood in the center of 



44 DOLPH HE YLIGER. 

the deal-table, shed a feeble yellow ray, dimly illumining the 
chamber, and making uncouth shapes and shadows on the 
walls, from the clothes which Dolph had thrown over a 
chair. 

625 With all his boldness of heart, there was something sub- 
duing in this desolate scene, and he felt his spirits flag 
within him, as he lay on his hard bed and gazed about the 
room. He was turning over in his mind his idle habits, his 
doubtful prospects,. and now and then heaving a heavy sigh 

630 as he thought on his poor old mother; for there is nothing 
like the silence and loneliness of night to bring dark shadows 
over the brightest mind. By and by he thought he heard a 
sound as of some one walking below stairs. He listened, 
and distinctly heard a step on the great staircase. It 

635 approached solemnly and slowly, tramp — tramp— tramp! 
It was evidently the tread of some heavy personage ; and 
yet how could he have got into the house without making a 
noise ? He had examined all the fastenings, and was cer- 
tain that every entrance was secure. Still the steps 

640 advanced, tramp — tramp — tramp! It was evident that the 
person approaching could not be a robber, the step was too 
loud and deliberate; a robber would either be stealthy or 
precipitate. And now the footsteps had ascended the stair- 
case ; they were slowly advancing along the passage, 

645 resounding through the silent and empty apartments. The 
very cricket had ceased its melancholy note, and nothing 
interrupted their awful distinctness. The door which had 
been locked on the inside, slow ; ly swung open, as if self- 
moved. The footsteps entered the room ; but no one was to 

650 be seen. They passed slowly and audibly across it, tramp — 
tramp — tramp ! but whatever made the sound was invisible. 
Dolph rubbed his eyes, and stared about him ; he could see 
to every part of the dimly-lighted chamber; all was vacant; 
yet still he heard those mysterious footsteps, solemnly walk- 

655 ing about the chamber. They ceased, and all was dead 



DOLPH HE YLIGER. 45 

silence. There was something more appalling in this invis- 
ible visitation, than there would have been in anything that 
addressed itself to the eyesight. It was awfully vague and 
indefinite. He felt his heart beat against his ribs ; a cold 

660 sweat broke out upon his forehead ; he lay for some time in 
a state of violent agitation ; nothing, however, occurred to 
increase his alarm. His light gradually burnt down into the 
socket, and he fell asleep. When he awoke it was broad 
daylight ; the sun was peering through the cracks of the 

665 window-shutters, and the birds were merrily singing about 
the house. The bright cheery day soon put to flight all the 
terrors of the preceding night. Dolph laughed, or rather 
tried to laugh, at all that had passed, and endeavored to 
persuade himself that it was a mere freak of the imagination 

670 conjured up by the stories he had heard ; but he was a little 
puzzled to find the door of his room locked on the inside, 
notwithstanding that he had positively seen it swing open as 
the footsteps had entered. He returned to town in a state 
of considerable perplexity ; but he determined to say nothing 

675 on the subject, until his doubts were either confirmed or 
removed by another night's watching. His silence was a 
grievous disappointment to the gossips who had gathered at 
the doctor's mansion. They had prepared their minds to 
hear direful tales and were almost in a rage at being assured 

680 he had nothing to relate. 

The next night, then, Dolph repeated his vigil. He now 
entered the house with some trepidation. He was particu- 
lar in examining the fastenings of all the doors, and securing 
them well. He locked the door of his chamber, and placed a 

685 chair against it ; then having dispatched his supper, he threw 
himself on his mattress and endeavored to sleep. It was all 
in vain ; a thousand crowding fancies kept him waking. The 
time slowly dragged on, as if minutes were spinning them- 
selves out into hours. As the night advanced, he grew more 

690 and more nervous ; and he almost started from his couch 



4 6 DOLPH HE YLIGER. 

when he heard the mysterious footstep again on the stair- 
case. Up it came, as before, solemnly and slowly, tramp — 
tramp — tramp ! It approached along the passage; the door 
again swung open, as if there had been neither lock nor im- 

695 pediment, and a strange looking figure stalked into the 
room. It was an elderly man, large and robust, clothed in 
the old Flemish fashion. He had On a kind of short coat, 
with a garment under it, belted round the waist ; trunk hose, 
with great bunches or bows at the knees ; and a pair of 

roo russet boots, very large at top, and standing widely from his 
legs. His hat was broad and slouched, with a feather trail- 
ing over one side. His iron-gray hair hung in thick masses 
on his neck ; and he had a short grizzled beard. He walked 
slowly round the room, as if examining that all was safe ; 

705 then, hanging his hat on a peg beside the door, he sat down 
in the elbow chair, and, leaning his elbow on the table, fixed 
his eyes on Dolph with an unmoving and deadening stare. 

Dolph was not naturally a coward ; but he had been 
brought up in an implicit belief in ghosts and goblins. A 

710 thousand stories came swarming to his mind that he had 
heard about this building ; and as he looked at this strange 
personage, with his uncouth garb, his pale visage, his grizzly 
beard, and his fixed, staring, fish-like eye, his teeth began to 
chatter, his hair to rise on his head, and a cold sweat to 

715 break out all over his body. How long he remained in this 
situation he could not tell, for he was like one fascinated. 
He could not take his gaze off from the specter ; but lay 
staring at him, with his whole intellect absorbed in the con- 
templation. The old man remained seated behind the table, 

720 without stirring, or turning an eye, always keeping a dead 
steady glare upon Dolph. At length the household cock 
from a neighboring farm, clapped his wings, and gave a loud 
cheerful crow that rung over the fields. At the sound the 
old man slowly rose, and took down his hat from the peg ; 

725 the door opened, and closed after him ; he was heard to go 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 47 

slowly down the staircase, tramp — tramp — tramp ! — and when 
he had got to the bottom, all was again silent. Dolph lay 
and listened earnestly ; counted every footfall ; listened 
and listened, if the steps should return, until, exhausted by 

730 watching and agitation, he fell into a troubled sleep. 

Daylight again brought fresh courage and assurance. He 
would fain have considered all that had passed as a mere 
dream ; yet there stood the chair in which the unknown had 
seated himself : there was the table on which he had leaned ; 

735 there was the peg on which he had hung his hat ; and there 
was the door locked precisely as he himself had locked it, 
with the chair placed against it. He hastened down stairs, 
and examined the doors and windows ; all were exactly in 
the same state in which he had left them, and there was no 

740 apparent way by which any being could have entered and 
left the house, without leaving some trace behind. " Pooh ! " 
said Dolph to himself, " it was all a dream," — but it would 
not do ; the more he endeavored to shake the scene off his 
mind, the more it haunted him. 

745 Though he persisted in a strict silence as to all that he had 
seen or heard, yet his looks betrayed the uncomfortable 
night that he had passed. It was evident that there was 
something wonderful hidden under this mysterious reserve. 
The doctor took him into the study, and locked the door, and 

750 sought to have a full and confidential communication ; but he 
could get nothing out of him. Frau Ilsy took him aside into 
the pantry, but to as little purpose ; and Peter de Groodt 
held him by the button for a full hour, in the church-yard, 
the very place to get at the bottom of a ghost story, but 

755 came off not a whit wiser than the rest. It is always the 
case, however, that one truth concealed makes a dozen cur- 
rent lies. It is like a guinea locked up in a bank, that has a 
dozen paper representatives. Before the day was over, the 
neighborhood was full of reports. Some said that Dolph 

760 Heyliger watched in the haunted house, with pistols loaded 



48 DOLPH -HEYLIGER. 

with silver bullets ; others, that he had a long talk with a 
specter without a head; others, that Doctor Knipperhausen 
and the sexton had been hunted down the Bowery lane, and 
quite into town, by a legion of ghosts of their customers. 

765 Some shook their heads ; and thought it a shame the doctor 

should put Dolph to pass the night alone in that dismal 

house, where he might be spirited away, no one knew whither. 

These rumors at length reached the ears of the good Dame 

Heyliger, and, as may be supposed, threw her into a terrible 

770 alarm. For her son to have exposed himself to danger from 
living foes, would have nothing so dreadful in her eyes, as to 
dare alone the terrors of the haunted house. She hastened 
to the doctor's, and passed a great part of the clay in attempt- 
ing to dissuade Dolph from repeating his vigil ; she told him 

775 a score of tales, which her gossiping friends had just related 
to her, of persons who had been carried off, when watching 
alone in old ruinous houses. It was all to no effect. Dolph's 
pride, as well as curiosity, was piqued. He endeavored to 
to calm the apprehensions of his mother, and to assure her 

780 that there was no truth in all the rumors she had heard ; she 
looked at him dubiously and shook her head ; but finding his 
determination was not to be shaken, she brought him a little 
thick Dutch Bible, with brass clasps, to take with him, as a 
sword wherewith to fight the powers of darkness ; and, lest 

785 that might not be sufficient, the housekeeper gave him the 
Heidelberg catechism by way of dagger. 

The next night, therefore, Dolph took up his quarters for 
the third time in the old mansion. Whether dream or not, the 
same thing was repeated. Towards midnight, when every- 

790 thing was still, the same sound echoed through the empty 
halls — tramp — tramp — tramp ! The stairs were again 
ascended ; the door again swung open ; the old man entered, 
walked round the room, hung up his hat, and seated himself 
by the table. The same fear and trembling came over poor 

795 Dolph, though not in so violent a degree. He lay in the 



DOLPH HE YLIGER. 49 

same way, motionless and fascinated, staring at the figure 
which regarded him as before with a dead, fixed, chilling 
gaze. In this way they remained for a long time, till, by 
degrees, Dolph's courage began gradually to revive. Whether 

800 alive or dead, this being had certainly some object in his 
visitation ; and he recollected to have heard it said, spirits 
have no power to speak until spoken to. Summoning up 
resolution, therefore, and making two or three attempts, before 
he could get his parched tongue in motion, he addressed the 

805 unknown in the most solemn form of adjuration, and de- 
manded to know what was the motive of his visit. 

No sooner had he finished, than the old man rose, took 
down his hat, the door opened, and he went out, looking 
back upon Dolph just as he crossed the threshold, as if ex- 

810 peering him to follow. The youngster did not hesitate an 
instant. He took the candle in his hand, and the Bible 
under his arm, and obeyed the tacit invitation. The candle 
emitted a feeble, uncertain ray ; but still he could see 
the figure before him slowly descend the stairs. He followed 

815 trembling. When it had reached the bottom of the stairs, 
it turned through the hall towards the back door of the man- 
sion. Dolph held the light over the balustrades ; but in his 
eagerness to catch a sight of the unknown, he flared his feeble 
taper so suddenly, that it went out. Still there was sufficient 

820 light from the pale moonbeams, that fell through a narrow win- 
dow, to give him an indistinct view of the figure, near the door. 
He followed, therefore, down-stairs, and turned towards the 
place ; but when he arrived there, the unknown had disap. 
peared. The door remained fast barred and bolted ; there 

825 was no other mode of exit ; yet the being, whatever he might 
be, was gone. He unfastened the door, and looked out into 
the fields. It was a hazy, moonlight night, so that the eye 
could distinguish objects at some distance. He thought he 
saw the unknown in a footpath which led from the door. 

830 He was not mistaken ; but how had he got out of the house ? 
4 



5 o 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 



He did not pause to think, but followed on. The old man 
proceeded at a measured pace, without looking about him, 
his footsteps sounding on the hard ground. He passed 
through the orchard of apple-trees, always keeping the foot- 

835 path. It led to a well, situated in a little hollow, which had 
supplied the farm with water. Just at this well Dolph lost 
sight of him. He rubbed his eyes and looked again ; but 
nothing was to be seen of the unknown. He reached the 
well, but nobody was there. All the surrounding ground was 

840 open and clear ; there was no bush nor hiding-place. He 
looked down the well, and saw, at a great depth, the reflec- 
tion of the sky in the still water. After remaining here for 
some time, without seeing or hearing anything more of his 
mysterious conductor, he returned to the house, full of awe 

845 and wonder. He bolted the door, groped his way back to 
bed, and it was long before he could compose himself to 
sleep. 

His dreams were strange and troubled. He thought he 
was following the old man along the side of a great river, 

850 until they came to a vessel on the point of sailing ; and that 
his conductor led him on board and vanished. He remem- 
bered the commander of the vessel, a short, swarthy man, 
with crisp black hair, blind of one eye, and lame of one leg; 
but the rest of his dream was very confused. Sometimes he 

855 was sailing ; sometimes on shore ; now amidst storms and 
tempests, and now wandering quietly in unknown streets. 
The figure of the old man was strangely mingled up with the 
incidents of the dream, and the whole distinctly wound up 
by his finding himself on board of the vessel again, returning 

860 home, with a great bag of money ! 

When he woke, the gray, cool light of dawn was streaking 
the horizon, and the cocks passing the reveille from farm to 
farm throughout the country. He rose more harassed and 
perplexed than ever. He was singularly confounded by all 

865 that he had seen and dreamt, and began to doubt whether 



DOLPH HE YLIGER. 5 I 

his mind was not affected, and whether all that was passing in 
his thoughts might not be mere feverish fantasy. In his pres- 
ent state of mind, he did not feel disposed to return immedi- 
ately to the doctor's, and undergo the cross-questioning of the 

870 household. He made a scanty breakfast, therefore, on the re- 
mains of the last night's provisions, and then wandered out 
into the fields to meditate on all that had befallen him. Lost 
in thought, he rambled about, gradually approaching the town, 
until the morning was far advanced, when he was aroused by a 

8?5 hurry and bustle around him. He found himself near the 
water's edge, in a throng of people, hurrying to a pier, where 
was a vessel ready to make sail. He was unconsciously car- 
ried along by the impulse of the crowd, and found that it was 
a sloop, on the point of sailing up the Hudson to Albany. 

880 There was much leave-taking and kissing of old women and 
children and great activity in carrying on board baskets of 
bread and cakes, and provisions of all kinds, notwithstanding 
the mighty joints of meat that dangled over the stern ; for a 
voyage to Albany was an expedition of great moment in 

885 those days. The commander of the sloop was hurrying about, 
and giving a world of orders, which were not very strictly 
attended to ; one man being busy in lighting his pipe, and 
another in sharpening his snicker-snee. 

The appearance of the commander suddenly caught 

890 Dolph's attention. He was short and swarthy, with crisp 
black hair ; blind of one eye and lame of one leg — the very 
commander that he had seen in his dream ! Surprised and 
aroused, he considered the scene more attentively, and re- 
called still further traces of his dream : the appearance of the 

895 vessel, of the river, a variety of other objects, accorded 
with the imperfect images vaguely rising to recollec- 
tion. 

As he stood musing on these circumstances, the captain 
suddenly called out to him in Dutch, " Step on board, young 

900 man, or you'll be left behind ! " He was startled by the 



5 2 DOLPH HE YLIGER. 

summons ; he saw that the sloop was cast loose, and was 
actually moving from the pier ; it seemed as if he was actu- 
ated by some irresistible impulse ; he sprang upon the deck, 
and the next moment the sloop was hurried off by the wind 

905 and tide. Dolph's thoughts and feelings were all in tumult 
and confusion. He had been strongly worked upon by the 
events which had recently befallen him, and could not but 
think there was some connection between his present situa- 
tion and his last night's dream. He felt as if under super- 

9io natural influence; and tried to assure himself with an old 
and favorite maxim of his, that " one way or other, all would 
turn out for the best." For a moment, the indignation of 
the doctor at his departure, without leave, passed across his 
mind, but that was matter of little moment ; then he thought 

915 of the distress of his mother at his strange disappearance, 
and the idea gave him a sudden pang; he would have en- 
treated to be put on shore, but he knew with such wind and 
tide the entreaty would have been in vain. Then the inspir- 
ing love of novelty and adventure came rushing in full tide 

920 through his bosom; he felt himself launched strangely and 
suddenly on the world, and under full way to explore the 
regions of wonder that lay up this mighty river, and beyond 
those blue mountains which had bounded his horizon since 
childhood. While he was lost in this whirl of thought, the 

925 sails strained to the breeze; the shores seemed to hurry 
away behind him ; and before he perfectly recovered his self- 
possession, the sloop was plowing her way past Spiking- 
devil and Yonkers, and the tallest chimney of the Manhattoes 
had faded from his sight. 

930 I have said that a voyage up the Hudson in those days 
was an undertaking of some moment ; indeed, it was as much 
thought of as a voyage to Europe is at present. The sloops 
were often many days on the way; the cautious navigators 
taking in sail when it blew fresh, and coming to anchor at 

935 night ; and stopping to send the boat ashore for milk for tea ; 



DOLPH HE YLIGER. 5 3 

without which it was impossible for the worthy old lady pas- 
sengers to subsist. And there were the much-talked-of perils 
of the Tappaan Zee, and the highlands. In short, a prudent 
Dutch burgher would talk of such a voyage for months, and 

940 even years, beforehand ; and never undertook it without put- 
ting his affairs in order, making his will, and having prayers 
said for him in the Low Dutch churches. 

In the course of such a voyage, therefore, Dolph was satis- 
fied he would have time enough to reflect, and to make up 

945 his mind as to what he should do when he arrived at Albany. 
The captain, with his blind eye, and lame leg, would, it is 
true, bring his strange dream to mind, and perplex him sadly 
for a few moments ; but of late his life had been made up so 
much of dreams and realities, his nights and days had been 

950 so jumbled together, that he seemed to be moving continu- 
ally in a delusion. There is always, however, a kind of 
vagabond consolation in a man's having nothing in this 
world to lose ; with this Dolph comforted his heart, and 
determined to make the most of the present enjoyment. 



PART II. 

In the second day of the voyage they came to the high- 
lands. It was the latter part of a calm, sultry clay, that they 
floated gently with the tide between these stern mountains. 
There was that perfect quiet which prevails over nature in 

5 the languor of summer heat ; the turning of a plank, or the 
accidental falling of an oar on deck, was echoed from the 
mountain side, and reverberated along the shores ; and if by 
chance the captain gave a shout of command, there were airy 
tongues which mocked it from every cliff. 

10 Dolph gazed about him in mute delight and wonder at 
these scenes of nature's magnificenceo To the left the 
Punderberg reared its woody precipices, height over height. 



54 DOLPH HE YLIGER. 

forest over forest, away into the deep summer sky. To the 
right strutted forth the bold promontory of Antony's Nose, 

15 with a solitary eagle wheeling about it ; while beyond, moun- 
tain succeeded to mountain, until they seemed to lock their 
arms together, and confine this mighty river in their em- 
braces. There was a feeling of quiet luxury in gazing at the 
broad, green bosoms here and there scooped out among the 

20 precipices ; or at woodlands high in air, nodding over the 
edge of some beetling bluff, and their foliage all transparent 
in the yellow sunshine. 

In the midst of his admiration, Dolph remarked a pile 
of bright, snowy clouds, peering above the western heights. 

25 It was succeeded by another, and another, each seemingly 
pushing onwards its predecessor, and towering, with daz- 
zling brilliancy, in the deep blue atmosphere : and now mut- 
tering peals of thunder were faintly heard rolling behind the 
mountains. The river, hitherto still and glassy, reflecting 

30 pictures of the sky and land, now showed a dark ripple at a 
distance, as the breeze came creeping up it. The fish- 
hawks wheeled and screamed, and sought their nests on the 
high dry trees ; the crows flew clamorously to the crevices of 
the rocks, and all nature seemed conscious of the approach- 

35 ing thunder-gust. 

The clouds now rolled in volumes over the mountain-tops ; 
their summits still bright and snowy, but the lower parts of 
an inky blackness. The rain began to patter down in 
broad and scattered drops ; the wind freshened, and curled 

40 up the waves ; at length it seemed as if the bellying clouds 
were torn open by the mountain-tops, and complete torrents 
of rain came rattling down. The lightning leaped from 
cloud to cloud, and streamed quivering against the rocks, 
splitting and rending the stoutest forest-trees. The thunder 

45 burst in tremendous explosions ; the peals were echoed from 
mountain to mountain ; they crashed upon Dunderberg, and 
rolled up the long defile of the highlands, each headland 



DOLPH HE YLIGER. 5 5 

making a new echo, until old Bull Hill seemed to bellow 
back the storm. 

50 For a time the scudding rack and mist, and the sheeted 
rain, almost hid the landscape from the sight. There was a 
fearful gloom, illumined still more fearfully by the streams 
of lightning which glittered among the raindrops. Never 
had Dolph beheld such an absolute warring of the elements ; 

55 it seemed as if the storm was tearing and rending its way 
through this mountain defile, and had brought all the artil- 
lery of heaven into action. 

The vessel was hurried on by the increasing wind, until 
she came to where the river makes a sudden bend, the only 

60 one in the whole course of its majestic career.* Just as they 
turned the point, a violent flaw of wind came sweeping down 
a mountain gully, bending the forest before it, and in a 
moment lashing up the river into white froth and foam. The 
captain saw the danger, and cried out to lower the sail. Be- 

65 fore the order could be obeyed, the flaw struck the sloop, 
and threw her on her beam ends. Everything now was 
fright and confusion : the flapping of the sails, the whistling 
and rushing of the wind, the bawling of the captain and 
crew, the shrieking of the passengers, all mingled with the 

70 rolling and bellowing of the thunder. In the midst of the 
uproar the sloop righted ; at the same time the mainsail 
shifted, the boom came sweeping the quarter deck, and 
Dolph, who was gazing unguardedly at the clouds, found 
himself, in a moment, floundering in the river. 

<5 For once in his life one of his idle accomplishments was 
of use to him. The many truant hours he had devoted to 
sporting in the Hudson had made him an expert swimmer ; 
yet with all his strength and skill he found great difficulty 
in reaching the shore. His disappearance from the deck 

80 had not been noticed by the crew, who were all occupied by 

* This must have been the bend at West Point, 



56 DOLPH HEYLIGKR. 

their own danger. The sloop was driven along with incon- 
ceivable rapidity. She had hard work to weather a long 
promontory on the eastern shore, round which the river 
turned, and which completely shut her from Dolph's view. 

85 It was on a point of the western shore that he landed, and, 
scrambling up the rocks, threw himself, faint and exhausted, 
at the foot of a tree. By degrees the thundergust passed 
over. The clouds rolled away to the east, where they lay 
piled in feathery masses, tinted with the last rosy rays of the 

90 sun. The distant play of the lightning might be seen about 
the dark bases, and now and then might be heard the faint 
muttering of the thunder. Dolph rose, and sought about to 
see if any path led from the shore, but all was savage and 
trackless. The rocks were piled upon each other ; great 

95 trunks of trees lay shattered about, as they had been blown 
down by the strong winds which draw through these moun- 
tains, or had fallen through age. The rocks, too, were over- 
hung with wild vines and briers, which completely matted 
themselves together, and opposed a barrier to all ingress ; 

ioo every movement that he made shook down a shower from 
the dripping foliage. He attempted to scale one of these 
almost perpendicular heights ; but, though strong and agile, 
he found it an Herculean undertaking. Often he was sup- 
ported merely by crumbling projections of the rock, and 

105 sometimes he clung to roots and branches of trees, and 
hung almost suspended in the air. The wood-pigeon came 
cleaving his whistling flight by him, and the eagle screamed 
from the brow of the impending cliff. As he was thus 
clambering, he was on the point of seizing hold of a shrub to 

no aid his ascent, when something rustled among the leaves, 
and he saw a snake, quivering along like lightning, almost 
from under his hand. It coiled itself up immediately, in an 
attitude of defiance, with flattened head, distended jaws, and 
quickly vibrating tongue, that played like a little flame about 

ii5 it$ mouth. Dolph's heart turned faint, within him, and he had 



DOLPH HE YL1GER. 5 7 

well nigh let go his hold, and tumbled down the precipice. 
The serpent stood on the defensive but for an instant ; and 
finding there was no attack, glided away into a cleft of the 
rock. Dolph's eye followed it with fearful intensity, and saw 

120 a nest of adders, knotted, and writhing, and hissing in the 

' chasm. He hastened with all speed from so frightful a 

neighborhood. His imagination, full of this new horror, saw 

an adder in every curling vine, and heard the tail of a 

rattlesnake in every dry leaf that rustled. 

125 At length he succeeded in scrambling to the summit of a 
precipice ; but it was covered by a dense forest. Wherever 
he could gain a look out between the trees, he beheld heights 
and cliffs, one rising beyond another, until huge mountains 
overtopped the whole. There were no signs of cultivation ; 

vi} no smoke curling among the trees to indicate a human resi- 
dence. Everything was wild and solitary. As he was stand- 
ing on the edge of a precipice overlooking a deep ravine 
fringed with trees, his feet detached a great fragment of 
rock ; it fell, crashing its way through the tree-tops, down 

135 into the chasm. A loud whoop, or rather yell, issued from 
the bottom of the glen ; the moment after there was the 
report of a gun ; and a ball came whistling over his head, 
cutting the twigs and leaves, and burying itself deep in the 
bark of a chestnut-tree. 

140 Dolph did not wait for a second shot, but made a precipi- 
tate retreat ; fearing every moment to hear the enemy in 
pursuit. He succeeded, however, in returning unmolested 
to the shore, and determined to penetrate no farther into a 
country so beset with savage perils. 

145 He sat himself down, dripping, disconsolately, on a stone. 
What was to be done? where was he to shelter himself? 
The hour of repose was approaching ; the birds were seek- 
ing their nests, the bat began to flit about in the twilight, 
and the night-hawk, soaring high in the heaven, seemed to 

150 be calling out the stars, Night gradually closed in ? and 



5 8 DOLPH HE YLIGER. 

wrapped everything in gloom ; and though it was the latter 
part of summer, the breeze stealing along the river, and 
among these dripping forests, was chilly and penetrating, 
especially to a half-drowned man. 

155 As he sat drooping and despondent in this comfortless 
condition, he perceived a light, gleaming through the trees 
near the shore, where the winding of the river made a deep 
bay. It cheered him with the hope of a human habitation, 
where he might get something to appease the clamorous 

160 cravings of his stomach, and what was equally necessary in 
his shipwrecked condition, a comfortable shelter for the 
night. With extreme difficulty he made his way toward the 
light, along the ledges of rocks, down which he was in danger 
of sliding into the river, and over great trunks of fallen trees; 

165 some of which had been blown down in the late storm, and 
lay so thickly together, that he had to struggle through their 
branches. At length he came to the brow of a rock over- 
hanging a small dell, whence the light proceeded. It was 
from a fire at the foot of a great tree in the midst of a grassy 

170 interval or plat among the rocks. The fire cast up a red 
glare among the gray crags, and impending trees ; leaving 
chasms of deep gloom, that resembled entrances to caverns. 
A small brook rippled close by, betrayed by the quivering 
reflection of the flame. There were two figures moving 

175 about the fire, and others squatted before it. As they were 
between him and the light, they were in complete shadow; 
but one of them happening to move round to the opposite 
side, Dolph was startled at perceiving, by the glare falling on 
painted features, and glittering on silver ornaments, that he 

180 was an Indian. He now looked more narrowly, and saw 
guns leaning against a tree, and a dead body lying on the 
ground. Here was the very foe that had fired at him from 
the glen. He endeavored to retreat quietly, not caring to 
intrust himself to these half-human beings in so savage and 

185 lonely a place. It was too late ; the Indian, with that eagle 



DOLPH HE YLIGER. 5 9 

quickness of eye so remarkable in his race, perceived some- 
thing stirring among the bushes on the rock : he seized one 
of the guns that leaned against the tree ; one moment more, 
and Dolph might have had his passion for adventure cured 

190 by a bullet. He halloed loudly, with the Indian salutation 
of friendship: the whole party sprang upon their feet; the 
salutation was returned, and the straggler was invited to 
join them at the fire. 

On approaching, he found, to his consolation, the party 

195 was composed of white men, as well as Indians. One, evi- 
dently the principal personage, or commander, was seated on 
a trunk of a tree before the lire. He was a large, stout man, 
somewhat advanced in life, but hale and hearty. His face 
was bronzed almost to the color of an Indian's ; he had 

200 strong but rather jovial features, an aquiline nose, and a 
mouth shaped like a mastiff's. His face was half thrown in 
shade by a broad hat, with a buck's tail in it. His gray 
hair hung short in his neck. He wore a hunting-frock, with 
Indian leggins, and moccasins, and a tomahawk in the broad 

205 wampum-belt around his waist. As Dolph caught a distant 
view of his person and features, something reminded him 
of the old man of the haunted house. The man before 
him, however, was different in dress and age ; he was more 
cheery too in aspect, and it was hard to find where the vague 

210 resemblance lay ; but a resemblance there certainly was. 
Dolph felt some degree of awe in approaching him ; but 
was assured by a frank, hearty welcome. He was still further 
encouraged by perceiving that the dead body, which had 
caused him some alarm, was that of a deer ; and his satis- 

215 faction was complete in discerning, by savory steams from a 
kettle, suspended by a hooked stick over the fire, that there 
was a part cooking for the evening's repast. 

He had, in fact, fallen in with a rambling hunting-party ; 
such as often took place in those days among the settlers 

220 along the river. The hunter is always hospitable ; and noth- 



60 DOLPH HEYLIGER. 

ing makes men more social and unceremonious than meet- 
ing in the wilderness. The commander of the party poured 
out a dram of cheering liquor, which he gave him with a 
merry leer, to warm his heart ; and ordered one of his fol- 

225 lowers to fetch some garments from a pinnace, moored in a 
cove close by, while those in which our hero was dripping 
might be dried before the fire. 

Dolph found, as he had suspected, that the shot from the 
glen, which had come so near giving him his quietus, when 

230 on the precipice was from the party before him. He had 
nearly crushed one of them by the fragments of rock which 
he had detached ; and the jovial old hunter, in the broad hat 
and buck-tail, had fired at the place where he saw the bushes 
move, supposing it to be some wild animal. He laughed 

235 heartily at the blunder; it being what is considered an ex- 
ceeding good joke among hunters : " but faith, my lad," said 
he, " if I had but caught a glimpse of you to take sight at, 
you would have followed the rock. Antony Vander Heyden 
is seldom known to miss his aim." These last words were 

240 at once a clue to Dolph's curiosity; and a few questions let 
him completely into the character of the man before him, 
and of his band of woodland rangers. The commander in 
the broad hat and hunting frock was no less a personage 
than the Heer Antony Vander Heyden, of Albany, of whom 

245 Dolph had many a time heard. He was, in fact, the hero of 
many a story; his singular humors and whimsical habits, 
being matters of wonder to his quiet Dutch neighbors. As 
he was a man of property, having had a father before him, 
from whom he inherited large tracts of wild land, and whole 

250 barrels full of wampum, he could indulge his humors without 
control. Instead of staying quietly at home, eating and 
drinking at regular meal times, amusing himself by smoking 
his pipe on the bench before the door, and then turning into 
a comfortable bed at night, he delighted in all kinds of 

255 rough, wild exp'editions ; never so happy as when on a hunt- 



DOLPH HE YLIGER. 6 1 

ing party in the wilderness, sleeping under trees or bark 
sheds, or cruising down the river, or on some woodland lake, 
fishing or fowling, and living the Lord knows how. 

He was a great friend to Indians, and to an Indian mode 

260 of life ; which he considered true natural liberty and manly 
enjoyment. When at home he had always several Indian 
hangers-on, who loitered about his house, sleeping like 
hounds in the sunshine ; or preparing hunting and fishing 
tackle for some new expedition ; or shooting at marks with 

265 bows and arrows. 

Over these vagrant beings Heer Antony had as perfect 
command as a huntsman over his pack ; though they were 
great nuisances to the regular people of his neighborhood. 
As he was a rich man, no one ventured to thwart his 

270 humors; indeed, his hearty, joyous manner made him univer- 
sally popular. He would troll a Dutch song as he tramped 
along the street; hail every one a mile off, and when he 
entered a house, would slap the good man familiarly on the 
back, shake him by the hand till he roared, and kiss his 

275 wife and daughter before his face — in short, there was no 
pride or ill humor about Heer Antony. 

Besides his Indian hangers-on, he had three or four hum- 
ble friends among the white men, who looked up to him as a 
patron, and had the run of his kitchen, and the favor of 

280 being taken with him occasionally on his expeditions. With 
a medley of such retainers he was at present on a cruise 
along the shores of the Hudson, in a pinnace kept for his 
own recreation. There were two white men with him, 
dressed partly in the Indian style, with moccasins and hunt- 

285 ing shirts ; the rest of his crew consisted of four favorite 
Indians. They had been prowling about the river without 
any definite object until they found themselves in the high- 
lands, where they had passed two or three days, hunting the 
deer which still lingered among these mountains. 

290 " It is lucky for you, young man// said Antony Vander 



62 DOLPH HE YLIGER. 

Heyden, "that you happened to be knocked overboard 
to-day ; as to-morrow morning we start early on our return 
homewards ; and you might then have looked in vain for a 
meal among the mountains — but come, lads, stir about ! stir 

295 about ! let's see what prog we have for supper ; the kettle 
has boiled long enough; my stomach cries cupboard, and I'll 
warrant our guest is in no mood to dally with his trencher." 

There was a bustle now in the little encampment; one 
took off the kettle and turned a part of the contents into a 

300 huge wooden bowl. Another prepared a flat rock for a 
table ; while a third brought various utensils from the pin- 
nace ; Heer Antony himself brought a flask or two of 
precious liquor from his own private locker, knowing his boon 
companions too well to trust any of them with the key. 

305 A rude but hearty repast was soon spread ; consisting of 

venison smoking from the kettle, with cold bacon, boiled 

Indian corn, and mighty loaves of good brown household 

bread. Never had Dolph made a more delicious repast. 

The Heer Antony grew chirping and joyous ; told half 

3io a dozen stories, at which his white followers laughed 
immoderately, though the Indians, as usual, maintained an 
invincible gravity. 

" This is your true life, my boy ! " said he, slapping Dolph 
on the shoulder ; " a man is never a man till he can defy wind 

315 and weather, range woods and wilds, sleep under a tree, and 
live on bass-wood leaves ! " 

The repast being ended, the Indians, having smoked their 
pipes, now wrapped themselves in their blankets, stretched 
themselves on the ground, with their feet to the fire, and soon 

320 fell asleep, like so many tired hounds. The rest of the party 
remained chatting before the fire, which the gloom of the for- 
est, and the dampness of the air from the late storm, rendered 
extremely grateful and comforting. The conversation gradu- 
ally moderated from the hilarity of supper-time, and turned 

325 upon hunting adventures, and exploits and perils in the wil- 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 63 

derness, many of which were so strange and improbable, that I 
will not venture to repeat them, lest the veracity of Antony 
Vander Heyden and his comrades should be brought into 
question. There were many legendary tales told, also, about 

300 the river and the settlements on its borders, in which valua- 
ble kind of lore the Heer Antony seemed deeply versed. As 
the sturdy bush-beater sat in a twisted root of a tree, that 
served him for an arm-chair, dealing forth these wild stories, 
with the fire gleaming on his strongly-marked visage, Dolph 

335 was again repeatedly perplexed by something that reminded 
him of the phantom of the haunted house ; some vague 
resemblance not to be fixed upon any precise feature or lin- 
eament, but pervading the general air of his countenance and 
figure. 

340 The circumstance of Dolph's falling overboard led to the 
relation of divers disasters and singular mishaps that had 
befallen voyagers on this great river, particularly in the 
earlier periods of colonial history; most of which the Heer 
deliberately attributed to supernatural causes. Dolph 

345 stared at this suggestion ; but the old gentleman assured 
him it was very currently believed by the settlers along the 
river, that these highlands were under the dominion of 
supernatural and mischievous beings, which seemed to have 
taken some pique against the Dutch colonists in the early 

a50 time of the settlement. In consequence of this, they have 
ever taken particular delight in venting their spleen, and 
indulging their humors, upon the Dutch skippers, bothering 
them with flaws, head-winds, counter currents, and all kinds 
of impediments ; insomuch, that a Dutch navigator was 

355 always obliged to be exceedingly wary and deliberate in his 
proceedings ; to come to anchor at dusk ; to drop his peak, 
or take in sail, whenever he saw a swag-bellied cloud rolling 
over the mountains ; in short, to take so many precautions, 
that he was often apt to be an incredible time in toiling up 

360 the river. 



64 DOLPH HEYLIGER. 

Some, he said, believed these mischievous powers of the 
air to be evil spirits conjured up by the Indian wizards, in 
the early times of the province, to revenge themselves on the 
strangers who had dispossessed them of their country. They 

365 even attributed to their incantations the misadventure which 
befell the renowned Hendrick Hudson, when he sailed so 
gallantly up this river in quest of a northwest passage, and, 
as he thought, ran his ship aground ; which they affirm was 
nothing more nor less than a spell of these same wizards, to 

370 prevent his getting to China in this direction. 

The moon had just raised her silver horns above the 
round back of Old Bull Hill, and lit up the gray rocks and 
shagged forests, and glittered on the waving bosom of the 
river. The night dew was falling, and the late gloomy moun- 

375 tains began to soften and put on a gray aerial tint in the 
dewy light. The hunters stirred the fire, and threw on fresh 
fuel to qualify the damp of the night air. They then pre- 
pared a bed of branches and dry leaves under a ledge of 
rocks for Dolph ; while Antony Vander Heyden, wrapping 

380 himself in a huge coat of skins, stretched himself before the 
fire. It was some time, however, before Dolph could close 
his eyes. He lay contemplating the strange scene before 
him : the wild woods and rocks around; the fire throwing fit- 
ful gleams on the faces of the sleeping savages ; and the 

385 Heer Antony, too, who so singularly, yet vaguely, reminded 
him of the nightly visitant to the haunted house. Now and 
then he heard the cry of some wild animal from the forest ; 
or the hooting of the owl ; or the notes of the whippoorwiil, 
which seemed to abound among these solitudes ; or the 

390 splash of a sturgeon, leaping out of the river, and falling 
back full length on its placid surface. He contrasted all 
this with his accustomed nest in the garret room of the'doc- 
tor's mansion ; where the only sounds at night were the 
church clock telling the hour ; the drowsy voice of the 

395 watchman, drawling out all was well ; the deep snoring of 



DOLPH HE YLIGER. 65 

the doctor's clubbed nose from below stairs; or the cautious 
labors of some carpenter rat gnawing in the wainscot. His 
thoughts then wandered to his poor old mother: what would 
she think of his mysterious disappearance — what anxiety 

400 and distress would she not suffer ? This thought would con- 
tinually intrude itself to mar his present enjoyment. It 
brought with it a feeling of pain and compunction and he 
fell asleep with the tears yet standing in his eyes. 

Were this a mere tale of fancy, here would be a fine op- 

405 portunity for weaving in strange adventures among these 
wild mountains and roving hunters ; and, after involving my 
hero in a variety of perils and difficulties, rescuing him from 
them all by some miraculous contrivance ; but as this is abso- 
lutely a true story, I must content myself with simple facts, 

410 and keep to probabilities. 

At an early hour of the next day, therefore, after a hearty 
morning's meal, the encampment broke up, and our adven- 
turers embarked in the pinnace of Anthony Vander Heyden. 
There being no wind for the sails, the Indians rowed her 

415 gently along, keeping time to a kind of chant of one of the 
white men. The day was serene and beautiful ; the river 
without a wave ; and as the vessel cleft the glassy water, it 
left a long, undulating track behind. The crow r s, who had 
scented the hunters' banquet, were already gathering and 

420 hovering in the air, just where a column of thin, blue smoke, 
rising from among the trees, showed the place of their last 
night's quarters. As they coasted along the basis of the 
mountains the Heer Antony pointed out to Dolph a bald 
eagle, the sovereign of these regions, who sat perched on a 

425 dry tree that projected over the river ; and, with eye turned 
upwards, seemed to be drinking in the splendor of the 
morning sun. Their approach disturbed the monarch's med- 
itations. He first spread one wing, and then the other ; 
balanced himself for a moment ; and then, quitting his perch 

430 with dignified composure, wheeled slowly over their heads. 
5 



66 DOLPH HEYLIGER. 

Dolph snatched up a gun, and sent a whistling ball after 
him, that cut some of the feathers from his wing ; the report 
of the gun leaped sharply from rock to rock, and awakened 
a thousand echoes ; but the monarch of the air sailed calmly 

435 on, ascending higher and higher, and wheeling widely as he 
ascended, soaring up the green bosom of the woody moun- 
tains, until he disappeared over the brow of a beetling 
precipice. Dolph felt in a manner rebuked by this proud 
tranquillity, and almost reproached himself for having so 

440 wantonly insulted this majestic bird. Heer Antony told 
him, laughing, to remember that he was not yet out of the 
territories of the lord of the Dunderberg ; and an old Indian 
shook his head, and observed, that there was bad luck in 
killing an eagle ; the hunter, on the contrary should always 

445 leave him a portion of his spoils. 

Nothing, however, occurred to molest them on their voy- 
age. They passed pleasantly through magnificent and 
lonely scenes, until they came to where Pollopol's Island 
lay, like a floating bower, at the extremity of the highlands. 

450 Here they landed, until the heat of the day should abate, or 
a breeze spring up that might supersede the labor of the oar. 
Some prepared the mid-day meal, while others reposed 
under the shade of the trees, in luxurious summer indo- 
lence, looking drowsily forth upon the beauty of the scene. 

455 On the one side were the highlands, vast and cragged, 
feathered on the top with forests, and throwing their 
shadows on the glassy water that dimpled at their feet. On 
the other side was a wide expanse of the river, like a broad 
lake, with long sunny reaches, and green headlands ; and 

460 the distant line of Shawangunk mountains waving along a 
clear horizon, or checkered by a fleecy cloud. 

But I forbear to dwell on the particulars of their cruise 
along the river ; this vagrant, amphibious life, careering 
across silver sheets of water ; coasting wild woodland 

465 shores ; banqueting on shady promontories, with the spread 



DOLPH HE YLIGER. 6? 

ing tree overhead, the river curling its light foam to one's 
feet, and distant mountain, and rock, and tree, and snowy 
cloud, and deep blue sky, all mingling in summer beauty 
before one ; all this, though never cloying in the enjoyment, 

4ro would be but tedious in narration. 

When encamped by the water-side, some of the party would 
go into the woods and hunt ; others would fish ; sometimes 
they would amuse themselves by shooting at a mark, by leap- 
ing, by running, by wrestling; and Dolph gained great 

4?5 favor in the eyes of Antony Vander Heyden, by his skill and 
adroitness in all these exercises ; which the Heer considered 
as the highest -of manly accomplishments. 

Thus did they coast jollily on, choosing only the pleasant 
hours for voyaging ; sometimes in the cool morning dawn, 

480 sometimes in the sober evening twilight, and sometimes 
when the moonshine spangled the crisp curling waves that 
whispered along the sides of their little bark. Never had 
Dolph felt so completely in his element; never had he met 
with anything so completely to his taste as this wild hap-haz- 

485 ard life. He was the very man to second Antony Vander 
Heyden in his rambling humors, and gained continually on 
his affections. The heart of the old bushwhacker yearned 
toward the young man, who seemed thus growing up in his 
own likeness ; and as they approached to the end of their 

490 voyage, he could not help inquiring a little into his history. 
Dolph frankly told him his course of life, his severe medical 
studies, his little proficiency, and his very dubious prospects. 
The Heer was shocked to find that such amazing talents and 
accomplishments were to be cramped and buried under a 

495 doctor's wig. He had a sovereign contempt for the healing 
art, having never had any other physician than the butcher. 
He bore a mortal grudge to all kinds of study also, ever 
since he had been flogged about an unintelligible book when 
he was a boy. But to think that a young fellow like Dolph, 

500 of such wonderful abilities, who could shoot, fish, run, jump, 



68 DOLPH HE YLIGER. 

ride, and wrestle, should be obliged to roll pills, and admin- 
ister juleps for a living — 'twas monstrous ! He told Dolph 
never to despair, but to " throw physic to the dogs ; " for a 
young fellow of his prodigious talents could never fail to 

505 make his way. " As you seem to have no acquaintance in 
Albany," said Heer Antony, "you shall go home with me, 
and remain under my roof until you can look about you; 
and in the mean time we can take an occasional bout at 
shooting and fishing, for it is a pity that such talents should 

510 lie idle." 

Dolph, who was at the mercy of chance, was not hard to 
be persuaded. Indeed, on turning over matters in his mind, 
which he did very sagely and deliberately, he could not but 
think that Antony Vander Heyden was, "somehow or 

515 other," connected with the story of the Haunted House ; . 
that the misadventure in the highlands, which had thrown 
them so strangely together, was, " somehow or other," to 
work out something good : in short, there is nothing so con- 
venient as this " somehow or other" way of accommodating 

520 one's self to circumstances ; it is the main stay of a heedless 
actor, and tardy reasoner, like Dolph Heyliger ; and he who 
can, in this loose, easy way, link foregone evil to anticipated 
good, possesses a secret of happiness almost equal to the 
philosopher's stone. 

525 On their arrival at Albany, the sight of Dolph's compan- 
ion seemed to cause universal satisfaction. Many were the 
greetings at the river-side, and the salutations in the streets ; 
the dogs bounded before him ; the boys whooped as he 
passed; everybody seemed to know Antony Vander Heyden. 

530 Dolph followed on in silence, admiring the neatness of this 
worthy burgh ; for in those days Albany was in all its glory, 
and inhabited almost exclusively by the descendants of the 
original Dutch settlers, not having as yet been discovered 
and colonized by the restless people of New England. 

535 Everything was quiet and orderly ; everything was conducted 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 69 

calmly and leisurely ; no hurry, no bustle, no struggling and 
scrambling for existence. The grass grew about the unpaved 
streets, and relieved the eye by its refreshing verdure. Tall 
sycamores or pendant willows shaded the houses, with cater- 

540 pillars swinging, in long silken strings, from their branches ; 
or moths, fluttering about like coxcombs, in joy at their gay 
transformation. The houses were built in the old Dutch 
style, with the gable ends towards the street. The thrifty 
housewife was seated on a bench before her door, in close- 
st crimped cap, bright-flowered gown, and white apron, busily 
employed in knitting. The husband smoked his pipe on the 
opposite bench, and the little pet negro girl, seated on the 
step at her mistress's feet, was industriously plying her 
needle. The swallows sported about the eaves, or skimmed 

550 along the streets, and brought back some rich booty for their 
clamorous young ; and the little housekeeping wren flew in 
and out of a Lilliputian house, or an old hat nailed against 
the wall. The cows were coming home, lowing through the 
streets, to be milked at their owner's door ; and if, perchance, 

555 there were any loiterers, some negro urchin, with a long 
goad, was gently urging them homewards. 

As Dolph's companion passed on, he received a tranquil 
nod from the burghers, and a friendly word from their wives ; 
all calling him familiarly by the name of Antony ; for it was 

560 the custom in this stronghold of the patriarchs, where they 
had all grown up together from childhood, to call each other 
by the christian name. The Heer did not pause to have his 
usual jokes with them, for he was impatient to reach his 
home. At length they arrived at his mansion. It was of 

565 some magnitude, in the Dutch style, with large iron figures 
on the gables, that gave the date of its erection, and showed 
that it had been built in the earliest times of the settlement. 

The news of Heer Antony's arrival had preceded him, 
and the whole household was on the look-out. A crew of 

570 negroes, large and small, had collected in front of the house 



70 DOLPH HE YLIGER 

to receive him. The old white-headed ones, who had grown 
gray in his service, grinned for joy, and made many awkward 
bows and grimaces, and the little ones capered about his 
knees. But the most happy being in the household was a 

575 little, plump, blooming lass, his only child, and the darling of 
his heart. She came- bounding out of the house ; but the 
sight of a strange young man with her father called up, for 
a moment, all the bashfulness of a home-bred damsel. 
Dolph gazed at her with wonder and delight; never had he 

580 seen, as he thought, anything so comely in the shape of a 
woman. She was dressed in the good old Dutch taste, with 
long stays, and full, short petticoats, so admirably adapted to 
show and set off the female form. Her hair, turned up 
under a small round cap, displayed the fairness of her fore- 

585 head ; she had fine, blue, laughing eyes, a trim, slender 
waist, — in a word, she was a little Dutch divinity; and 
Dolph, who never stopped half-way in a new impulse, fell 
desperately in love with her. 

Dolph was now ushered into the house with a hearty 

590 welcome. In the interior was a mingled display of Heer 
Antony's taste and habits, and of the opulence of his pre- 
decessors. The chambers were furnished with good old 
mahogany; the beaufets and cupboards glittered with 
embossed silver, and painted china. Over the parlor fire- 

595 place was, as usual, the family coat of arms, painted and 
framed ; above which was a long cluck fowling-piece, flanked 
by an Indian pouch, and a powder-horn. The room was 
decorated with many Indian articles, such as pipes of peace, 
tomahawks, scalping-knives, hunting-pouches, and belts of 

600 wampum ; and there were various kinds of fishing-tackle, 
and two or three fowling-pieces in the corners. The house- 
hold affairs seemed to be conducted, in some measure, after 
the master's humors; corrected, perhaps, by a little quiet 
management of the daughter's. There was a great degree 

605 of patriarchal simplicity, and good-humored indulgence. 



DOLPH HE YL1GER, *J\ 

The negroes came into the room without being called, merely 
to look at their master, and hear of his adventures ; they 
would stand listening at the door until he had finished a 
story, and then go off on a broad grin, to repeat it in the 

6io kitchen. A couple of pet negro children were playing about 
the floor with the dogs, and sharing with them their bread 
and butter. All the domestics looked hearty and happy ; 
and when the table was set for the evening repast, the variety 
and abundance of good household luxuries bore testi- 

615 mony to the open-handed liberality of the Heer and the 
notable housewifery of his daughter. 

In the evening there dropped in several of the worthies of 
the place, the Van Rensselaers, and the Gansevoorts, and 
the Rosebooms and others of Antony Vander Heyden's in- 

020 timates, to hear an account of his expeditions ; for he was 
the Sinbad of Albany, and his exploits and adventures were 
favorite topics of conversation among the inhabitants. 
While these sat gossiping together about the door of the 
hall, and telling long twilight stories, Dolph was cozily 

625 seated, entertaining the daughter on a window-bench. He 
had already got on intimate terms ; for those were not times 
of false reserve and idle ceremony; and, besides, there is 
something wonderfully propitious to a lover's suit, in the 
delightful dusk of a long summer evening; it gives courage 

630 to the most timid tongue, and hides the blushes of the bash- 
ful. The stars alone twinkled brightly ; and now and then a 
fire-fly streamed his transient light before the window, or, 
wandering into the room, flew gleaming about the ceiling. 
The chamber in which our hero was lodged was spacious, 

635 and paneled with oak. It was furnished with clothes- 
presses, and mighty chests of drawers, well waxed, and glit- 
tering with brass ornaments. These contained ample stock 
of family linen ; for the Dutch housewives had always a 
laudable pride in showing off their household treasures to 

640 strangers. 



72 DOLPH HE YLIGER. 

Dolph's mind, however, was too full to take particular note 
of the objects around him ; yet he could not help continually 
comparing the free, open-hearted cheeriness of this establish- 
ment, with the starveling, sordid, joyless housekeeping at 

645 Dr. Knipperhausen's. Still, something marred the enjoy- 
ment : the idea that he must take leave of his hearty host, 
and pretty hostess, and cast himself once more adrift upon 
the world. To linger here would be folly : he should only 
get deeper in love ; and for a poor varlet, like himself, to 

650 aspire to the daughter of the great Heer Vander Heyden — 
it was madness to think of such a thing ! 

"This is a fine conclusion, truly, of my voyage," said he, as 
he almost buried himself in a sumptuous feather-bed, and 
drew the fresh white sheets up to his chin. " Here am I, 

655 instead of finding a bag of money to carry home, launched, 
in a strange place, with scarcely a stiver in my pocket ; and, 
what is worse, have jumped ashore up to my very ears in love 
into the bargain. " However," added he, after some pause, 
stretching himself, and turning himself in bed, " I'm in good 

660 quarters for the present, at least ; so I'll e'en enjoy the pres- 
ent moment, and let the next take care of itself; I dare say 
all will work out, ' somehow or other,' for the best." 

As he said these words, he reached out his hand to extin- 
guish the candle, when he w r as suddenly struck with aston- 

665 ishment and dismay, for he thought he beheld the phantom 
of the haunted house, staring on him from a dusky part of 
the chamber. A second look reassured him, as he perceived 
that what he had taken for the specter was, in fact, nothing 
but a Flemish portrait, hanging in a shadowy corner, just be- 

670 hind a clothes-press. It was, however, the precise represen- 
tation of his nightly visitor. The same cloak and belted 
jerkin, the same grizzled beard and fixed eye, the same 
broad slouched hat, with a feather hanging over one side. 
Dolph now called to mind the resemblance he had frequently 

675 remarked between his host and the old man of the haunted 



DOLPH HE YLIGER. 73 

house ; and was fully convinced they were in some way con- 
nected, and that some especial destiny had governed his 
voyage. He lay gazing on the portrait with almost as much 
awe as he had gazed on the ghostly original, until the shrill 

680 house-clock warned him of the lateness of the hour. He put 
out the light; but remained for a long time turning over 
these curious circumstances and coincidences in his mind, 
until he fell asleep. His dreams partook of the nature of 
his waking thoughts. He fancied that he still lay gazing on 

685 the picture, until, by degrees, it became animated ; that the 
figure descended from the wall, and walked out of the room ; 
that he followed it, and found himself by the well, to which 
the old man pointed, smiled on him, and disappeared. 

In the morning, when he waked, he found his host stand- 

690 ing by his bedside, who gave him a hearty morning's saluta- 
tion, and asked him how he had slept. Dolph answered 
cheerily ; but took occasion to inquire about the portrait 
that hung against the wall. " Ah," said Herr Antony, 
" that's a portrait of old Killian Vander Spiegel, once a 

695 burgomaster of Amsterdam, who, on some popular troubles, 
abandoned Holland, and came over to the province during 
the government of Peter Stuyvesant. He was my ancestor 
by the mother's side, and an old miserly curmudgeon he was. 
When the English took possession of New Amsterdam, in 

too 1664, he fell into a melancholy, apprehending that his 
wealth would be taken from him, and he come to beggary. 
He turned all his property into cash, and used to hide it 
away. He was for a year or two concealed in various places, 
fancying himself sought after by the English, to strip him of 

705 his wealth ; and finally he was found dead in his bed one 
morning, without any one being able to discover where he 
had concealed the greater part of his money." 

When his host had left the room, Dolph remained for 
some time lost in thought. His whole mind was occupied 

no by what he had heard. Vander Spiegel was his mother's 



74 DOLPH HE YLIGER. 

family name ; and he recollected to have heard her speak of 
this very Killia.n Vander Spiegel as one of her ancestors. 
He had heard her say, too, that her father was Killian's 
rightful heir, only that the old man died without leaving any- 

715 thing to be inherited. It now appeared that Heer Antony 
was likewise a descendant, and perhaps an heir also, of this 
poor rich man ; and that thus the Heyligers and the Vander 
Heydens were remotely connected. " What," thought he, 
" if, after all, this is the interpretation of my dream, that 

720 this is the way I am to make my fortune by this voyage 
to Albany, and that I am to find the old man's hidden 
wealth in the bottom of that well ? But what an odd, 
roundabout mode of communicating the matter ! Why the 
plague could not the old goblin have told me about the 

725 well at once, without sending me all the way to Albany, to 
hear a story that was to send me all the way back again ? " 

These thoughts passed through his mind while he was 
dressing. He descended the stairs, full of perplexity, when 
the bright face of Marie Vander Heyclen suddenly beamed 

730 in smiles upon him, and seemed to give him a clue to the 
whole mystery. " After all," thought he, " the old goblin is 
in the right. If I am to get his wealth, he means that I 
shall marry his pretty descendant ; thus both branches of 
the family will again be united, and the property go on in 

735 the proper channel." 

No sooner did this idea enter his head, than it carried con- 
viction with it. He was now all impatience to hurry back 
and secure the treasure, which, he did not doubt, lay at the 
bottom of the well, and which he feared every moment might 

740 be discovered by some other person. " Who knows," 
thought he, " but this night-walking old fellow of the 
haunted house may be in the habit of haunting every visitor, 
and may give a hint to some shrewder fellow than myself, 
who will take a shorter cut to the well than by the way of 

745 Albany ? " He wished a thousand times that the babbling 



DOLPH HE YLIGER. 7 $ 

old ghost was laid in the Red Sea, and his rambling portrait 
with him. He was in a perfect fever to depart. Two or three 
days elapsed before any opportunity presented for returning 
down the river. They were ages to Dolph, notwithstanding 

750 that he was basking in the smiles of the pretty Marie and 
daily getting more and more enamored. 

At length the very sloop from which he had been knocked 
overboard, prepared to make sail. Dolph made an awkward 
apology to his host for his sudden departure. Antony Van- 

755 der Heyden was sorely astonished. He had concerted half 
a dozen excursions into the wilderness ; and his Indians 
were actually preparing for a grand expedition to one of the 
lakes. He took Dolph aside, and exerted his eloquence to 
get him to abandon all thoughts of business and to remain 

too with him, but in vain ; and he at length gave up the attempt, 
observing that " it was a thousand pities so fine a young 
man should throw himself away." Heer Antony, however, 
gave him a hearty shake by the hand at parting, with a 
favorite fowling-piece, and an invitation to come to his house 

765 whenever he revisited Albany. The pretty little Marie said 
nothing ; but as he gave her a farewell kiss, her dimpled 
cheek turned pale, and a tear stood in her eye. 

Dolph sprang lightly on board of the vessel. They 
hoisted sail ; the wind was fair ; they soon lost sight of 

770 Albany, its green hills, and embowered islands. They were 
wafted gayly past the Kaatskill Mountains, whose fairy 
neights were bright and cloudless. % They passed prosper- 
ously through the highlands, without any molestation from 
the Dunderberg goblin and his crew ; they swept on across 

775 Haverstraw Bay and by Croton Point, and through the Tap- 
paan Zee, and under the Palisadoes, until, in the afternoon 
of the third day, they saw the promontory of Hoboken hang- 
ing like a cloud in the air ; and, shortly after, the roofs of 
the Manhattoes rising out of the water. 

780 Dolph's first care was to repair to his mother's house ; for 



76 DOLPH HEYLIGER. 

he was continually goaded by the idea of the uneasiness she 

must experience on his account. He was puzzling his 

. brains, as he went along, to think how he should account for 

his absence, without betraying the secrets of the haunted 

785 house. In the midst of these cogitations, he entered the 
street in which his mother's house was situated, when he was 
thunderstruck at beholding it a heap of ruins. 

There had evidently been a great fire, which had destroyed 
several large houses, and the humble dwelling of poor Dame 

790 Heyliger had been involved in the conflagration. The walls 
were not so completely destroyed, but that Dolph could dis- 
tinguish some traces of the scene of his childhood. The 
fireplace, about which he had often played still remained, 
ornamented with Dutch tiles, illustrating passages in Bible 

795 history, on which he had many a time gazed with admiration. 
Among the rubbish lay the wreck of the good dame's elbow- 
chair, from which she had given him so many a wholesome 
precept ; and hard by it was the family Bible, with brass 
clasps ; now, alas ! reduced almost to a cinder. 

800 For a moment Dolph was overcome by this dismal sight, 
for he was seized with the fear that his mother had perished 
in the flames. He was relieved, however, from this horrible 
apprehension, by one of the neighbors, who happened to 
come by and informed him that his mother was yet alive. 

805 The good woman had, indeed, lost everything by this 
unlooked-for calamity ; for the populace had been so intent 
upon saving the fine furniture of her rich neighbors, that the 
little tenement, and the little all of poor Dame Heyliger, had 
been suffered to consume without interruption ; nay, had it 

8io not been for the gallant assistance of her old crony, Peter de 
Groodt, the worthy dame and her cat might have shared the 
fate of their habitation. 

To the humble dwelling of Peter de Groodt, then, did 
Dolph turn his steps. On his way thither he recalled all the 

815 tenderness and kindness of his simple-hearted parent, her in- 



DOLPH HE YLZGER. J J 

dulgence of his errors, her blindness to his faults; and then 
he bethought himself of his own idle, harum-scarum life. . 
"I've been a sad scapegrace," said Dolph, shaking his head 
sorrowfully. " I've been a complete sink-pocket, that's the 

820 truth of it. — But," added he briskly, and clasping his hands, 
"only let her live — only let her live — and I'll show myself 
indeed a son ! " 

As Dolph approached the house he met Peter de Groodt 
coming out of it. The old man started back aghast, doubt- 

825 ing whether it was not a ghost that stood before him. It 
being bright daylight, however, Peter soon plucked up heart, 
satisfied that no ghost dare show his face in such clear sun- 
shine. Dolph now learned from the worthy sexton the con- 
sternation and rumor to which his mysterious disappearance 

830 had given rise. It had been universally believed that he had 
been spirited away by those hobgoblin gentry that infested 
the haunted house ; and old Abraham Vandozer, who lived 
by the great buttonwood trees, near the three-mile stone, 
affirmed, that he had heard a terrible noise in the air, as he 

835 was going home late at night, which seemed just as if a 
flock of wild geese were overhead, passing off towards the 
northward. The haunted house was, in consequence, looked 
upon with ten times more awe than ever ; nobody would 
venture to pass a night in it for the world, and even the doc- 

840 tor had ceased to make his expeditions to it in the daytime. 

It required some preparation before Dolph's return could 

be made known to his mother, the poor soul having bewailed 

him as lost ; and her spirits having been sorely broken down 

by a number of comforters, who daily cheered her with 

845 stories of ghosts, and of people carried away by the devil. 
He found her confined to her bed, with the other member of 
the Heyliger family, the good dame's cat, purring beside her, 
but sadly singed and utterly despoiled of those whiskers 
which were the glory of her physiognomy. The poor woman 

850 threw her arms about Dolph's neck : " My boy ! my boy ! art 



7 8 DOLPH HE YLIGER. 

thou still alive ? " For a time she seemed to have forgotten 
all her losses and troubles in her joy at his return. Even 
the sage grimalkin showed indubitable signs of joy at the re- 
turn of the youngster. She saw, perhaps, that they were a 

855 forlorn and undone family, and felt a touch of that kindli- 
ness which fellow-sufferers only know. But, in truth, cats 
are a slandered people; they have more affection in them 
than the world commonly gives them credit for. 

The good darned eyes glistened as she saw one being, at 

860 least, beside herself, rejoiced at her son's return. "Tib 
knows thee ! poor dumb beast ! " said she, smoothing down 
the mottled coat of her favorite ; then recollecting herself, 
with a melancholy shake of the head, " Ah, my poor 
Dolph ! " exclaimed she, " thy mother can help thee no 

865 longer ! She can no longer help herself ! What will become 
of thee, my poor boy ! " 

" Mother," said Dolph, " don't talk in that strain ; I've been 
too long a charge upon you ; it's now my part to take care of 
you in your old days. Come ! be of good cheer ! you, and I, 

870 and Tib will all see better days. I'm here, you see, young, 

and sound, and hearty ; then don't let us despair ; I dare 

say things will all, some how or other, turn out for the best." 

The next morning, bright and early, Dolph was out at the 

haunted house. Everything looked just as he had left it. 

875 The fields were grass-grown and matted, and appeared as if 
nobody had traversed them since his departure. With palpi- 
tating heart he hastened to the well. He looked clown into 
it, and saw that it was of great depth, with water at the bot- 
tom. He had provided himself with a strong line, such as 

880 the fishermen use on the banks of Newfoundland. At the 
end was a heavy plummet and a large fish-hook. With this 
he began to sound the bottom of the well, and to angle about 
in the water. The water was of some depth ; there was also 
much rubbish, stones from the top having fallen in. Several 

885 times his hook got entangled, and he came near breaking his 



DOLPH HE YLIGER. yg 

line. Now and then, too, he hauled up mere trash, such as 
the skull of a horse, an iron hook, and a shattered iron-bound 
bucket. He had now been several hours employed without 
finding anything to repay his trouble, or to encourage him to 

890 proceed. He began to think himself a great fool, to be thus 
decoyed into a wild-goose chase by mere dreams, and was on 
the point of throwing line and all into the well, and giving 
up all further angling. 

" One more cast of the line," said he, " and that shall be 

895 the last." As he sounded, he felt the plummet slip, as it 
were, through the interstices of loose stone ; as he drew 
back the line, he felt that the hook had taken hold of some- 
thing heavy. He had to manage his line with great caution, 
lest it should be broken by the strain upon it. By degrees 

900 the rubbish which lay upon the article he had hooked gave 
way; he drew it to the surface of the water, and what was his 
rapture at seeing something like silver glittering at the end 
of his line ! Almost breathless with anxiety, he drew it up 
to the mouth of the well, surprised at its great weight, and 

905 fearing every instant that his hook would slip from its hold, 
and his prize tumble again to the bottom. At length he 
landed it safe beside the well. It was a great silver por- 
ringer, of an ancient form, richly embossed, and with armorial 
bearings engraved on its side, similar to those over his 

910 mother's mantel-piece. The lid was fastened down by sev- 
eral twists of wire ; Dolph loosened them with a trembling 
hand, and, on lifting the lid, behold ! the vessel was filled 
with broad, golden pieces, of a coinage which he had never 
seen before ! It was evident he had lit on the place where 

915 Killian Vander Spiegel had concealed his treasure. 

Fearful of being seen by some straggler, he cautiously 
retired, and buried his pot of money in a secret place. He 
now spread terrible stories about the haunted house, and 
deterred every one from approaching it, while he made fre- 

920 quent visits to it in stormy days, when no one was stirring in 



8o DOLPH HE YLIGER. 

the neighboring fields ; though, to tell the truth, he did not 
care to venture there in the dark. For once in his life he 
was diligent and industrious, and followed up his new trade 
of angling with such perseverance and success, that in a 

925 little while he had hooked up wealth enough to make him - in 
those moderate days, a rich burgher for life. 

It would be tedious to detail minutely the rest of this 
story : to tell how he gradually managed to bring his prop- 
erty into use without exciting surprise and inquiry — how he 

930 satisfied all scruples with regard to retaining the property, 
and at the same time gratified his own feelings by marry- 
ing the pretty Marie Vander Heyden — and how he and 
Heer Antony had many a merry and roving expedition 
together. 

935 I must not omit to say however, that Dolph took his 
mother home to live with him, and cherished her in her old 
days. The ^ood dame, too, had the satisfaction of no 
longer hearing her son made the theme of censure ; on the 
contrary, he grew daily in public esteem ; everybody spoke 

940 well of him and his wines ; and the lordliest burgomaster 
was never known to decline his invitation to dinner. Dolph 
often related, at his own table, the wicked pranks which had 
once been the abhorrence of the town ; but they were now 
considered excellent jokes, and the gravest dignitary was 

945 fain to hold his sides when listening to them. No one was 
more struck with Dolph's increasing merit than his old 
master the doctor ; and so forgiving was Dolph, that he 
absolutely employed the doctor as his family physician, only 
taking care that his prescriptions should be always thrown 

950 out of the window. His mother had often her junto of old 
cronies to take a snug cup of tea with her in her comfortable 
little parlor ; and Peter de Groodt, as he sat by the fireside 
with one of her grandchildren on his knee, would many 
a time congratulate her upon her son turning out so great a 

955 man ; upon which the good old soul would wag her head 



DOLPH HE YL IGER. 8 1 

with exultation, and exclaim, "Ah, neighbor, neighbor! did 
I not say thai Dolph would one day or other hold up his 
head with the best of them ? " 

Thus did Dolph Heyliger go on, cheerily and prosper- 

960 ously, growing merrier as he grew older and wiser, and com- 
pletely falsifying the old proverb about money, got over the 
devil's back ; for he made good use of his wealth, and 
became a distinguished citizen, and a valuable member of 
the community. 

965 Finally, he died, in a florid old age, of an apoplexy at a 
corporation feast, and was buried with great honors in the 
yard of the little Dutch church in Garden Street, where 
his tombstone may still be seen, with a modest epitaph in 
Dutch, by his friend Mynheer Justus Benson, an ancient and 

9ro excellent poet of the province. 

The foregoing tale rests on better authority than most 
tales of the kind, as I have it at second hand from the lips 
of Dolph Heyliger himself. He never related it till towards 
the latter part of his life, and then in great confidence 

975 (for he was very discreet) to a few of his particular cronies 
at his own table, over a supernumerary bowl of punch ; and, 
strange as the hobgoblin parts of the story may seem, there 
never was a single doubt expressed on the subject by any 
of his guests. It may not be amiss, before concluding, to 

930 observe that, in addition to his other accomplishments, 
Dolph Heyliger was noted for being the ablest drawer of the 
long-bow in the whole province. 



THE CRIME OF OLD BLAS. 

BY 

CATULLE MENDES. 
PART I. 
OLD BLAS AND YOUNG BLAS. 

It is a pleasant thing to begin a hard day's work by sit- 
ting down in the low-ceilinged dining-room of the farm 
house, amid the copper vessels glistening in the opening 
daylight, before the well scrubbed wooden table and, leaning 

5 drowsily on the elbow, to eat long slices of black bread, 
moistened in milk still foaming round the edge of the bowl. 

Cadije, twenty-nine years old, bare-armed, her rosy face 
made still more glowing by her red cotton, Basque head- 
dress, goes to the foot of the staircase and cries, " Heavens ! 

to are they deaf, those people up there ? Halloo, father, hus- 
band, boy ! Are you not ashamed to be sleeping still, after 
I am up ? " 

It is a fine farm and pleasing to the eye. There are only 
twenty acres ; but they are acres of the very richest soil well 

15 enclosed by a thick hedge. The long rows of apple trees 
are carefully placed at regular intervals ; and under them the 
denizens of the barn yard, cackling on the turf, hissing around 
the pond, crowing on the fence-tops, hens and chickens, 
turkeys and geese, are a collection sufficient to satisfy any 

so farmer's wife. And Cadije does feel very happy amid her 
fruit trees and her fowls. She goes and comes from morn- 
ing till evening, doing the work of two ; familiar with people 
generally, but not always good tempered, because you must 
scold sometimes to make both animals and men mind you. 

82 



THE CRIME OF OLD BLAS. 83 

25 There are in our Basque country, among the foot-hills of 
the Pyrenees, generally near some mountain stream that 
roars and thunders along, many of these fertile farms, where 
the herbage thrives, and the branches are heavy with fruit. 
The hills guard them from the winds ; the torrent widens 

30 into a placid river or flows into a lake. In short, a minia- 
ture Normandy, with its apple trees and grassy fields, can be 
found in these valleys. 

Presently the rough staircase of white wood creaks heav- 
ily under the tread of descending feet. Old Bias appears, 

35 holding little Bias by the hand. The one was the father, 
the other the son, of Cadije. 

They leaned on each other and were gradually becoming 
of the same height ; little Bias increasing in stature as 
old Bias bent more and more. The latter was seventy-one 

40 years old, the former six. 

A large face, very sunburned, with many wrinkles, short 
white hair and beard,* little yellowish eyes always winking as 
if fatigued by seeing too many days — such was the old man. 
He was rather heavy, had short limbs, and wore the short 

45 vest of the Basque of the plain and the knitted cap with its 
large red tassel falling on his shoulder. He had lived — he 
now only existed. He had been a great gallant in his 
time ; he had not had his equal in attacking the bull or 
throwing the ball ; but he feels now that his time is past. 

50 He finds a heaviness, a trembling in his limbs formerly so 
quick and ready ; and his head, which he carries a little 
bent towards the left, shakes involuntarily. His mind even 
is not as bright and clear as it used to be. It sometimes 
happens that he does not recall a thing that he had said the 

55 evening before. And sometimes, when they come back to 
the country, he does not recognize the comrades with whom 
he had emptied more than one bottle before the inn door in 
the old days. But what of all this ? He knows enough yet, 
after his glass of cider, to tell a good story ; he can still 



84 THE CRIME OF OLD BLAS. 

60 walk his four leagues without a cane. He has no use for 
any support but the shoulder of his grandson. It sustains 
old Bias to hold up the boy. 

The latter was a child of the mountains, robust and 
healthy. Nourished by a strong mother, by plain living, 

65 by the pure air that vivified his lungs, he had grown and 
hardened. A powerful and beautiful manhood was visible in 
his infancy. From his babyhood he had always been pretty, 
with that air of astonishment, even of wildness, which shows 
the mind that is always questioning and is beginning to com- 

70 prehend. Restless and vivacious, he was still without care 
or anxiety. It was the highest pleasure of old Bias' life to 
kiss that blooming face, already a little tanned, fringed by 
rings of black hair, beneath which the clear blue eyes 
sparkled like the lakes of the mountains. 

75 Behind these came Cadije's husband, the child's father, 
Antonin Perdigut. He was thirty years old and had that 
serious look which the man of the mountain valleys usually 
has. He walked with a measured step, without haste, but 
without hesitation — the step of a laborer. 

80 Cadije kissed the three and they seated themselves around 
the table and ate in silence. Breakfast is not the hour for 
chatting and laughing. It is then necessary to keep your 
force and activity for the day's work, and not to dissipate it 
in badinage. But at evening, when the task is done, then 

85 you can amuse yourself ; when you have paid your debt, you 
are permitted to be a prodigal. 

Besides, they had slept late at the farm that morning, and 

* it was the sowing season. Antonin Perdigut had to hasten 
to the field with his bag of grain on his shoulder. As to the 

90 grandfather, he was employed on a railroad which passed 
near by ; an easy task, not at all fatiguing, which a child 
could have done, but which had been confided to the old 
man. 

So. without speaking, they quietly softened the long pieces 



THE CRIME OF OLD BLAS, 85 

95 of rye bread in the blue-tinted whiteness of the milk. From 
out of doors the rosy grayness of the morning, entering by 
the lowered windows, Hfted little by little the long shadows 
from the wall. The darkness, already pierced by light, 
became less and less sombre, as if heavy curtains drawn 

loo upwards were vanishing one after another. The wakening of 

the farm resounded in the chattering of birds, the whispering 

of the leaves, the mooing from the stable, in all the mingled 

noises of farm animals, and in the freshly blowing, cool wind. 

Old Bias, having emptied his bowl, spoke with a timid air : 

105 "It would be very nice to let the little one come with 
me to the bridge to amuse him — to amuse me, too. To 
see one train go by after another, all day long, is not very 
gay. I even get tired, after a while, of watching the flowing 
stream. Young people make the old young again. They 

110 put gayety in the aged spirits and light in the old eyes. The 
other day it rained the whole time, but Bias was with me, 
and on coming home I said, ' What beautiful weather we 
have had to-day ! ' Besides, it is very good for the child to 
breathe the pure air of the river side, and to play with the 

115 flowers by the side of my little hut." 

" Do you mean," said Cadije, rising, " that the air at the 
farm is not good, or that there are no flowers in the garden ? 
The child stays at home with me and the animals. If he 
wants to amuse himself, he can drive the geese along the 

120 road outside the hedge. He is small, it is true, but that has 
nothing to do with it ; he must begin to make himself useful. 
You may be sure I am not going to let him go with you. 
The number of passing trains is frightful, and I don't like to 
have him play by the edge of the stream ; the bank is slip- 

125 pery and the stones keep rolling under your feet." 

The boy had not made any objection at first, because he 
was still drinking his milk, but now he began to cry with a 
heartbroken air and to rub his eyes with his fists. 

"Good, good," said Cadije, "what I have said is said, 



S6 THE CRIME OF OLD BLAS. 

130 You want to go with your grandfather, because he tells you 
stories, because he lets you run wherever you want to, because 
he spoils you ; but I don't intend to have you spoiled. 
Didn't you come back in a beautiful state the other day ? 
Wet with perspiration, trousers in tatters, thistles in your 

135 hair ; it took me more than an hour to mend your blouse. 
If you don't know how to take care of a child, you ought 
not to ask to take him with you." 

But little Bias kept on crying, and even old Bias had some 
moisture in his little, yellow eyes that was going to form a 

140 tear. 

Antonin Perdigut then interposed, and having remarked 
that one time doesn't make a custom, said that she might, as 
an extraordinary favor, let the little one go with the grand- 
father to-day. 

145 Cadije said no ! a hundred times ; scolded and talked and 
ended by saying, "At least, be as careful as you can, both of 
you." And when they had promised not to run on the way, 
not to approach too near the river, and especially to be 
very careful when the trains passed, then the mother added — 

150 " Well, yes, I give my consent, but it is for the last 
time ! " 

They started out after many cautions and many kisses, 
with a slow step in order to prove how really careful they 
were going to be ; they crossed the yard, and going through 

155 the wooden gate, went slowly along the hedge which was so 
low just there that they could still be seen. But when they 
had passed the low hedge and nobody in the house could see 
them, — how things changed then ! 

Young Bias pulled his hand loose,' ran ahead, came back, 

160 jumped ditches, climbed trees, lost his hat in the branches, 
tore his trousers on the bark, and all the growing light of 
morning, and the cool breeze whispering among the branches, 
played around and about him ; while the grandfather, old 
child that he was, who wanted to play too, followed, running 



THE CRIME OF OLD BLAS. 87 

165 and murmuring in his white beard, "All right; the mother 
can't see us now ; wake up, my boy ! " 

The boy ran, the old man laughed ; and finally they 
arrived at the river's bank, before the bridge. The lumber 
rafts, and the sail boats, with their tall masts, float down the 

170 narrow and deep river, which here flows between a sandy 
beach and a mountain of black granite. At the foot of the 
mountain yawns the gloomy tunnel. There the trains dis- 
appear, after having crossed the little bridge of wood and 
iron, the thread that connects the bank of sand with the 

175 bank of rock. 

The spot, solitary and bare as it is, appears more mourn- 
ful on account of the high black mountain. But the sun, 
now fully risen, lightens and gilds the plains below where 
the farms here and there make isles of verdure. 

180 At present, the drawbridge is raised. Quickly old Bias 
goes to see that the dew of the night has not rusted the 
chains; that the crank moves easily when pressed. It is his 
duty to raise the bridge when the rafts and boats go by, and 
to lower it again for the passage of trains, each time that the 

185 signal is given to him by the noise of the electric bell or, 
afterwards, by the whistle of the locomotive. 

But little Bias don't trouble himself about the bridge and 
the crank and trains and boats; his duty to himself is to roll 
on the grass before the little wooden hut, which his grand- 

190 father has built by the side of the water as a shelter from 
the autumn rains. It is a pretty little house, which a 
young vine clothes in climbing verdure, and where the 
swallows come to drink the drops of dew from the gently- 
drooping cups of the morning glory. 

195 Then there is a garden, with paths bordered with wood, 
so narrow that it seems as if the old man wished that only 
the child should stroll there. And, besides, the plants are 
very small ones ; pinks and tulips and pansies, upon which 
the little Bias is able to look down proudly from his own 



88 THE CRIME OF OLD BLAS. 

200 lofty height. In the middle of the garden a sunflower raises 
itself pompously, like a very drum-major of flowers. 

The machinery of the bridge put in order, the grandfather 
comes noiselessly, on tiptoe, and suddenly take.s in his two 
great hands the head of the child, who turns quickly, at first 

205 frightened, then laughing. 

" Ah ! I have you ! I have you ! But I will let you go 
again. I catch birds and hold them a minute in my hand, so 
that they may have more pleasure when I let them fly away. 
You know, Bias, the stones are all ready to skip on the 

210 water ; the flowers are only there in order to be gathered, 
and I don't even forbid your running over the beds. That is 
the way I bring up my children. These little angels should 
be little imps once in a while." Then he added, " Down in 
that clump of bushes I found a bird's nest ; we will go and 

215 look for it pretty soon, when the train has passed." 

But the little Bias had another plan. He gathered daisies 
and threw them, one by one, at the old man's head ; the 
petals caught in the white hair, and soon old Bias had a 
beard of flowers. This was charming. He seated himself 

220 before the cabin, took the child on his knees and, in reprisal, 
tickled him with the daisy petals. All this occurred amid 
laughter, little cries of pure happiness, and scattered flowers, 
under the wheeling flight of swallows, and in the beautiful sun- 
light which grew clearer and more golden above their heads. 

225 Then the boy, becoming serious, said suddenly, " I have 
played enough ; now, tell me a story." 

It was for that that old Bias waited. The child never 
failed to reward him with a kiss after a fine story all full of 
giants and fairies, and the pleasure of a good kiss is well 

230 worth the trouble of telling a story, But long ago the grand- 
father had told all his stories : " Hop o' My Thumb," " Blue 
Beard" and " Goldilocks." He had even bought from a 
peddler a big book which the man told him was full of 
very pretty stories. He found that the book was " An Essay 



THE CRIME OF OLD BLAS. 89 

235 on the Establishment of French Banks on the Mississippi. " 
Little Bias had asked for something more amusing. 

Since then his memory was empty and his library useless. 
In order to earn his kiss the grandfather was obliged to be- 
come a poet. He lay awake nights, inventing wonderful 
240 adventures of princesses and fairies, which he repeated the 
next morning in the little hut. 

" All right," he said, " a story ; a story so beautiful that 
the little city boys have never heard its equal." 

"What is it called?" 
245 " It is the ' Story of the Little Boy who had no Ears, and of 
the Black Dog who smoked his Pipe.' " 

" Oh !" said the child. 

"Wait, and you will learn all about it," said the grand- 
father. 
250 And little Bias, seated on the doorstep, raised his pretty 
sun-browned face with its laughing lovelocks, while old Bias 
commenced slowly and deliberately; a little disturbed, too, 
because the story was very complicated, and he was not 
quite sure that he had found the right ending. 



PART II. 

THE STORY OF THE LITTLE BOY WHO HAD NO EARS, AND 
OF THE BLACK DOG WHO SMOKED HIS PIPE. 

" Once upon a time " 

" Where ?" 

"In a country. Once upon a time, there was a man and 

his wife, peasants, as we are, but much more unfortunate — a 

5 man and his wife to whom nothing ever happened, except 

that very frequently they had no bread for supper before 

going to sleep." 

"But soup?" 



90 THE CRIME OF OLD BLAS. 

" Not even the soup dish, for the cat had broken it. They 
10 were really very poor, and what made them sadder still was 
that their little boy was a child who had no ears." 

" Then he could not hear I" 

"Oh yes!" 

"How!" 
15 "'By the nose, perhaps, or by the eyes. The story does 
not explain that." 

Little Bias reflected a moment and then said: "It is not 
very amusing, this story." 

" But this is only the beginning. You will see very soon. 
20 Now the boy who had no ears and who yet heard very well, 
heard his father tell his mother one day, that, in a mountain 
in that country, there was a cave where a very rich enchanter 
had concealed much gold and silver, and that, by permission 
of the enchanter, the treasure would belong to the one who 
25 had the courage to go to seek it amid a thousand dan- 
gers." 

"An enchanter? " 

" Like in the ' Blue Princess.' " 

" Ah, yes ! " 
30 "Guignonet, for that was the boy's name, thought 'I 
should like to go to that mountain to see the enchanter's 
gold and silver, because we should then be rich, and father 
and mother would not have to work as they do, and we 
should not have to go to bed without any supper.' He was, 
35 you see, of a good disposition, this little boy without ears ; 
and he resolved to start for the mountain all alone, without 
saying a word to anybody, because he wished to surprise his 
parents when he came back with the treasure. What made 
him hesitate a little was that he usually did not have much 
40 luck in what he undertook. When he did something very 
good, things turned out so that it seemed that he had done 
something very bad, and he was punished for his good inten- 
tions, There are many people like him in. the world who 



THE CRIME OF OLD BLAS. 9 1 

never meet with any success, and who are always wrong- 

45 fully accused. 

Thus, one day, seeing a beggar on the road, although 
he was very poor himself, Guignonet gave him a sou 
that he had received as a present. What do you think 
the beggar said to him ? ' Thanks ? ' Not at all. He sud- 

50 denly threw the sou in his face and cried out, shaking his 
fist, ' it is very Wicked in you to try to deceive a poor beg- 
gar — the good God will punish you well. 5 " 
" Why did the beggar say that ? " 
" The sou was bad ; but that was not Guignonet's fault, 

55 as it had been given to him. 

" Another time, during the night, he heard a hen cackle in 
the stable ; it cackled and cackled. He felt so sorry for it 
that he jumped out of bed and went to the aid of the poor 
fowl. He found it tied in a round basket, and it cackled as 

60 if asking somebody to help it. Guignonet caressed it, but it 
still cackled. Then he said to himself, ' it must be that there 
is something in the basket that hurts it.' He wanted to help 
it, so he opened the basket. The hen flew out with wide- 
stretched wings, cackling louder than ever ; and what do you 

65 think fell out of the basket ? Two dozen eggs. And all 
the eggs were broken. You can imagine whether Guignonet 
was scolded by his parents who had put the eggs in the 
basket for the hen to hatch. Still the little earless boy 
wanted to help the hen. 

70 " And wait ; in regard to his ears ; I must tell you how he 
lost them ; because he was not born so. He was one time 
in the woods, when he was about eight years old, and he 
came upon a big black dog, seated on his haunches, who 
quietly smoked his pipe." 

75 " Who smoked his pipe ? " 

" Yes. In the country where Guignonet lived, you met, 
very frequently, dogs who smoked while walking in the streets 
and on the roads. In our country, they are much more rare. 



92 THE CRIME OF OLD BLAS. 

The dog that Guignonet met smoked his pipe quietly, or 
80 rather, he did not smoke, but that was not his fault, because 
the pipe had gone out. 

" Guignonet approached him and said, ' Mr. Dog, if you 
wish, I will go to the village to get you some matches.' Was 
not that amiable and polite ? Well, the dog raised himself 
85 on his paws, barked furiously, threw himself upon Guignonet 
and in two bites took off both his ears. Then turning and 
running quickly away, he disappeared in the forest." 

" With Guignonet's ears ? " 

" With both ears." 
90 " Say, grandfather, in the story, does he not get them back 
again later ? " 

" I can't tell you that yet. Who listens will know. You 
can understand that all these adventures had rendered 
Guignonet a little timid, but, nevertheless, the desire of. do- 
95 ing good was stronger than the fear of being ill-treated, and 
so one night, when everybody in the house was asleep, he got 
up, took his shoes in his hand, so as to make no noise, went 
out, and, although it was very dark on the road, started with- 
out any fear for the mountain. 
ioo "Now, that mountain was all black like the one before 
us, and there was no road up it ; and, besides, Guignonet did 
not know in what place he would find the cave, so that he- 
was very much puzzled, and he was on the point of return- 
ing home when a great raven came flying around his head. 
.05 " As it flew, the raven croaked, but in a manner that had 
nothing frightful or terrible in it. You would have said on 
the contrary, that the great black bird had good intentions 
and wished to give good advice to the little earless boy. 

" Guignonet looked at it, and it seemed to him that he 
no had already seen that large, pointed head, which held in its 
beak a pine twig. No, he had never seen it, but the ra- 
ven with the pine twig in its beak resembled, a little, the 
black dog who smoked his pipe. 



THE CRIME OF OLD BIAS. 



93 



" On account of this resemblance the child wished to flee, 

lis fearing for his eyes or his nose, since his ears were gone ; 
but the raven flying over him said, * Guignonet, don't be dis- 
couraged. The beggar to whom you gave the sou called you 
names. You were scolded for helping the cackling hen. 
The black dog has stolen your ears, because you offered to 

120 get him matches to light his pipe. Many other things have 
happened in which you had not the least luck, and it is on 
that account that you are called Guignonet, or Little Luck- 
less. But sooner or later the good that you do will bring its 
reward, as the seed brings the harvest, as the acorn becomes 

125 the oak. Be always a good little boy, ready to sacrifice 
yourself for others, and do not trouble yourself about any- 
thing else, Now seat yourself between my wings, and I will 
carry you to the side of the cave where the enchanter has 
concealed his treasure. 

130 " After speaking thus, the raven perched on the ground 
with wings extended. It was such a big bird that Guig- 
nonet, who was very little and very thin because he did not 
have much to eat, easily found room between the great 
wings. 

135 "The raven flew off, but Guignonet was not afraid. He 
thought of the pleasure of his parents when he brought them 
the treasure of the mountain. After it had flown higher than 
the. highest peak, the raven gradually descended into a clump 
of bushes in a kind of ravine which was very dark and very 

uo terrible, because you could see, shining here and there, the 
frighful eyes of owls. 

" Guignonet jumped down, saying: ' Thanks, M". Raven. 
I pray you now to show 7 me the way that leads to the cave.' 
But the bird was no longer a bird. It had changed very 

145 quickly into an old black dwarf, who looked with an evil 
smile and who had a pipe in his mouth. Guignonet thought 
again of the wicked dog who had stolen his ears. But he was 
not afraid, and he said : ' Mr. Dwarf, will you please show me 



94 THE CRIME OF OLD BLAS. 

the road which leads to the cave of the enchanter ? ' Then 

150 it was terrible. The dwarf with a great stick, the owls with 
their beaks, began to beat, pinch and maltreat in every way 
the little earless boy. i Go, you thief ! You have no right to 
take money that does not belong to you ! What would you 
do with the treasure of the mountains? You would buy 

155 marbles to play in the street, instead of going to school.' 
Guignonet answered : ' I can take the money, because it be- 
longs to nobody, since the enchanter has left it for the most 
courageous of men. And I assure you, it is not to buy mar- 
bles that I want it ; but so that my parents may not have 

160 to go to bed hungry, and that I may give alms to the 
beggars.' But they were useless words. 

" The wicked birds and the cruel dwarf did not cease to 
abuse the little boy, who, finally fleeing, all bruised from the 
strokes of the stick, all bleeding from the bites of the beaks, 

165 slipped and slid down over the stony side of the ravine to a 
great hole that opened there. 

Anybody else would have given up the enterprise on ac- 
count of the injustice that was shown him. Guignonet did 
not lose courage for so little. He thought of nothing but of 

170 making his parents happy. 

" It was very dark in the hole on which he had chanced, 
and in the blackness there was some kind of a beast, more 
black still, that looked like a wolf. It had between its teeth 
a bone that it had gnawed all white, so that you might well 

175 have taken it for a great pipe. The wolf said, ' Get out of 
my house, little wretch; I am the guardian of the treasure 
which is there under the stone, and I will not allow you to 
touch it. 7 But Guignonet threw himself boldly upon the 
wolf, and his desire to be useful lent him so much strength 

180 that he threw the beast over backwards, raised the stone 
that concealed the treasure, and there in place of the money 
and gold he had expected, he saw a little open casket in 
which was a great number of jewels, so beautiful that one alone 



THE CRIME OF OLD BLAS. 



95 



would have been enough to make the fortune of many kings. 

185 He seized [he heavy box, while the wolf snapped at his 
heels and bit his legs : but Guignonet paid no attention 
to the sharp teeth that bit him. He thought of the happiness 
of his mother when she would have beautiful dresses like 
those of the city ladies, and when she would be able every 

190 day to give soup to the passing beggars. 

" That was the kind of boy he was. It was all right for 
him to suffer, provided others were happy. Then, pursued by 
the wolf that clung close to his heels, he sought among the 
brambles to find the road that led to the foot of the mountain 

195 and to his home. He found a little stony path which de- 
scended very rapidly. 

" But in the shadows all around him was a crowd of crea- 
tures, men and beasts, which ran backwards and forwards, 
crying with all their might, ' See the little boy who has 

200 committed a great crime ;' and the birds following him, 
flying among the branches, sang, * Catch the robber ! ' 

" Guignonet was very sad because he was afraid that they 
would kill him, but more sad to see that everybody thought 
so badly of him. When he reached the plain, he believed 

205 that he was out of danger and that nobody could any longer 
call him wicked names. He already saw himself waking his 
father and mother in the little chamber. ' Behold the treas- 
ure concealed by the enchanter of the mountain cave, and 
which was reserved for the bravest of men ! I have found it 

210 and I have brought it to you. Rejoice ! Eat, drink and 
share with all the world the fortune which I have gained at 
the peril of my life !' 

"But things did not stop here as the little earless boy 
hoped. He saw r suddenly by his side and in front of him 

215 three monstrous policemen, and as the moon had risen he 
could see clearly the shining steel of their sabers and their 
white belts. But what was very extraordinary in these three 
policemen was that they all had, over their faces, great dog's 



96 THE CRIME OE OLD BLAS. 

muzzles, and, nevertheless, they quietly smoked their 

220 pipes.' ' 

Old Bias had reached this point in his story when the 
electric bell was heard. The first train would soon pass ; 
it was time to lower the bridge. He was just getting up, 
but little Bias stopped him, saying, " Then, grandfather, 

225 those policemen were dogs ?" 

" Real dogs," answered old Bias. And as he knew the 
train would not arrive for a quarter of an hour yet, and a 
couple of minutes were all that were necessary to lower the 
bridge, by means of the crank, he continued — 

230 "At least they looked like real dogs, but, you know, in 
stories, people are not always what they seem. 

" When the policemen saw Guignonet they ran to him, took 
his casket away from him and said, ' It is you, then, who 
robbed the travelers in the woods ? ' 

235 "The earless boy answered, ' You are mistaken. I come 
from the mountain. I am carrying to my parents the treas- 
ure which belongs to the bravest/ 

" They would not listen to a word. They put handcuffs on 
him and led him to the city prison. There he was placed 

240 in a very dark dungeon where the rats ran all over him. 
All the city was aroused. From his cell he heard the people 
outside say, 'Oh! Oh! He is arrested; that little thief! 
Who would have thought that Guignonet, with his honest 
face, was such a rascal ? ' 

245 " In loneliness, he wept, knowing well that he had not 
wished to do wrong, and feeling that he had not really 
done wrong." 

Here old Bias jumped up quickly. Two whistles were 
heard, and one could already see, below, the black rolling 

250 smoke. He ran toward the bridge, while the child began 
to play with the stones in the path. He began to turn the 
crank. He heard behind him, but still far off, the whistle, roar 
and thunder of the heavy locomotive and its long train of cars. 



THE CRIME OF OLD BLAS. Qj 

It was an express train. If old Bias had turned, he could 

255 have seen the travelers, whose heads were thrust out 
the windows, looking at the high mountain under which 
they were going. 

The bridge descended slowly, had already descended a 
little more than a third of its way. Old Bias did not hurry ; 

260 he had plenty of time. All was well. Suddenly there came 
a cry. He knew that voice ; it was the voice of little Bias. 
Playing on the river's edge, on the sand and stones, the 
child had slipped, rolled down, fallen into the water. 
Alas, he saw his grandchild, his love, his darling, disappear 

265 in the current. 

Old Bias was seventy-one, but he was strong, a splendid 
swimmer too. He dropped the crank and leaped toward the 
water. He would save his child, whose head appeared 
there, farther down. 

270 But the train was now very near — if he did not hasten to 
lower the bridge, the locomotive would hurl itself against 
the massive platform ; there would be a frightful disaster, 
the engine and cars would be crushed into fragments ; and 
men and women would lie there, dead and dying. 

275 The child appeared again, still farther off, calling to him, 
stretching his arms to him. What did the grandfather do ? 
He turned, took the crank in his two strong hands, and 
very soon the bridge rested on the opposite side. The loco- 
motive and its cars rolled over with the noise of thunder, 

280 buried itself in the tunnel and disappeared ; there was only 
a distant roar that shook the mountain. The train had 
passed, — the child was drowned. 

Old Bias, with horror-stricken eyes, stared at the river that 
had carried away little Bias. 

285 He stood there, stupefied, watching the deep water and 
the flowing current. His little Bias was drowned, his little 
Bias was dead. Two things tormented him ; its impossibil- 
ity and its reality. 
7 



98 THE CRIME OF OLD BIAS. 

What ! He would never see again that pretty, happy face, 

290 those clear blue eyes where laughed the sun ? He would 
never hear again the cries of joy over a butterfly caught, or 
a bird pursued; never, never for him, poor old man, that 
ecstasy again. 

He started to run along the bank. He would find the 

295 little body. He would again hold it in his arms. No ! 
The river had too great a start. The current so quickly 
carries away bodies, especially when they are little and 
light. 

And then, he must stay where he was, to watch over the 

300 road, to make the customary signals ; he must remain at his 
post, since he was a kind of soldier. He would not even 
have the consolation of seeing the pale body of his grandson 
stopped by some tree, or caught in the grass. 

" Did I do right in lowering the bridge ? If I had left the 

305 crank alone without troubling myself about the train, if I 
had immediately thrown myself into the water, I could have 
saved my poor, dear child. The cars would have hurled 
themselves, broken into a frightful mass, against the bridge 
of iron and wood, many of the travelers would have per- 

310 ished ; they would now be lying there bleeding, wounded, 
shattered. But what are the misfortunes and curses of 
others to me ? A grandfather ought first to save his child. 
I did wrong to do my duty. 

He said this in his sorrow, but it seemed to him, never- 

315 theless, that he had done right. He should not even have 
hesitated between the life of his child and that of so many 
men and women. Yes, but it was terrible just the same. 
He was in despair and was fainting with grief. He gained 
the little flower-surrounded hut. He looked at the narrow 

320 walks that he had made for the saunterings of the boy, and 
throwing himself upon the ground caressed the place where 
the boy had seated himself to listen to the story. In his 
white beard, the daisies which little Bias had thrown at him, 



THE CRIME OF OLD BLAS. 99 

still clung, and old Bias, picking them off, kissed them, with 

325 sobs that shook his whole body. 

The setting sun reddened the granite mountain, like a 
fire in the depths of a black mirror, then, little by little, the 
shadows mounted, and, amid the great silence, old Bias 
heard only the sinister sound of the rushing waters. 

£30 It was time to go back to the farm. To enter alone with- 
out the child — what should he say to the mother ? He took 
a staff from the hut ; he needed it now. How gay supper 
had always been when the day's task was done ! How 
many times he used to empty his glass of cider; and how 

335 would the lad, to whom the grandfather had been passing 
the tidbits of his supper, under the table, go to sleep finally 
in his high chair, tired and happy. 

But this evening's supper ! The old man walked slowly, 
like one who did not wish to advance. He rested against a 

340 tree as if not able to take another step, and leaned his head 
against the bark, weeping. 

To tell this to Cadjie and the father ? How ? With what 
words ? The cry of the mother, when he said to her, ' Little 
Bias is drowned ' — that cry, sharp, bitter, terrible, already 

345 rang in his ears. And not only would he see his daughter 
sob, his son-in-law turn pale, not only would he witness their 
awful anguish, but he foresaw, as a supreme agony, their 
reproaches. 

He understood it well. A father and mother would not 

350 stop to think whether he ought to consider others first and 
then himself and his own. " It was necessary to save the 
little one," Cadije would cry, " and let all those people that 
we do not know, die." Yes, Cadije would say that; and the 
old mind, troubled by that great catastrophe, thinks that per- 

355 haps she is right. 

Heroic by instinct then, he was not sure now that he had 
done right and he thinks, perhaps he himself, if Cadije, on 
entering the house some evening, had said, " I have sacri- 



IOO THE CRIME OF OLD BLAS. 

ficed the little one in order to save a crowd of people " — 

360 perhaps he would have cried, " You are a bad mother." 

All this weighed him down. He walked with head low- 
ered and shoulders bent, like one who carries a heavy bur- 
den. He wished that the farm was very far off, ten leagues, 
twenty leagues, or that between it and him there was a lofty 

365 mountain peak that could not be climbed. 

But no matter how slowly he walked, he had finally to 
come to his journey's end. It was now dark. He went 
along the hedge, bending down so as not to be seen. He 
remembered how joyously he had passed there that morn- 

370 ing. And he was so weak that he was hardly able to open 
the wooden gate. He recoiled, alarmed at the noise of the 
dog's chain as he passed the kennel. He advanced toward 
the other side of the yard ; the wide open door showed the 
well-lighted table where the supper was smoking. Cadije 

3?5 appeared on the door-sill. 

"Ah! father!" said she with a smile, "where now are 
your twenty-year-old legs ? The good man is already 
returned. The soup is hot. Hurry, because it is not so 
good cold, and I have brought you a cup of cider to cheer 

380 you up." 

He drew near with a timid look, and hesitated, with the air 
of a dog that is going to be beaten. Seated before the table, 
Antonin Perdigut lowered his head to smell the sweet cab- 
bage, and then cried joyously, " Enough talking ; I am dying 

385 of hunger in here." 

This calm, like that of other evenings, this home-coming, 
like all the others, frightened old Bias. Ah ! How it would 
all change ! How they would cease laughing ! How their 
hunger would depart ! The mother demanded, " But, where 

390 is the child ? " 

Behold, the moment had come ! The confession could no 
longer be kept back. It was necessary to answer, " The 
child is drowned." He raised his head, mouth open, eyes 



THE CRIME OF OLD BLAS. IOI 

fixed ; as one looks at death, if it rises suddenly before him, 
395 so he looked at the strong, good, happy Cadije, with her gay 
smile. 

Then he lowered his head and stammered, — " The child 

is there, behind the hedge ; he has walked slowly on account 

of a nest that we have found. It is the truth, it is really the 

400 truth. Wait an instant. He is there, behind the hedge. I 

will go and find him." 

" Ho ! Bias ! " called the mother. 

" No ! no ! " repeated he, trembling in all his limbs, " he 

will — will not obey. — He thinks that he is going to be 

405 scolded, because we are so late. I tell you that I am going 

to look for him myself. Do not be impatient and — begin 

supper." 

Then old Bias turned around, passed through the gate, 
closed it, and when he was alone outside the farm-yard, said 
410 " No, truly no ; — I did not dare ; I was not able." 

And quickly, without any other thought than that of not 

seeing his daughter in despair, of not hearing the curse of his 

son, he began to run across the fields, through the shadows 

and darkness, like one who has committed a crime, or a 

415 beast suddenly stricken with madness. 



PART III. 

THE END OF THE STORY OF THE LITTLE BOY WHO HAD NO 
EARS AND OF THE BLACK DOG WHO SMOKED HIS PIPE. 

He did not return. He crossed the plain, climbed the 
mountain, slept a sleep full of horrible dreams under a pro- 
jecting rock, and on awakening, fled again. He feared that 
he was not far enough away from that river that had taken 
5 away his child, from that dear farm-house where now they 
only wept. 



I02 THE CRIME OF OLD BLAS. 

With a few sous that he found in his pockets, he bought 
some food while passing through a village. 

People were afraid of him, because he was very pale and 

10 was continually looking back, like one who is afraid of being 
followed. A woman who was sowing corn, seeing him begin 
to run when he had passed the last house in the village, 
said to herself, " One would say that that old man had just 
done something wicked. " 

15 The next day he came to another valley where nobody 
knew him, because in the Basque country the mountains are 
frontiers that are seldom passed. As he had only a dozen 
sous left, he asked a man who was breaking stones on the 
road if he could not be employed in that work. 

20 With the woe-begone air that he had now, he did not 
inspire confidence ; nevertheless, the man answered, " You 
cannot get this kind of work in a day. It is necessary to 
have a friend in the government. I advise you to look for 
some other work. Now if you are an honest man, which 

25 everybody that happens along is not, you would do well to go 
to that saw-mill there, at the end of the valley, by the stream. 
The owner wants workmen and, although you don't look 
very strong, perhaps he will hire you to watch the mill, or 
for some other easy work." 

30 He followed that advice : went to the mill, asked to see the 
master, offered himself and was accepted. There were some 
difficulties made, because he had no passport, and did not 
have a very reassuring look. The master said to himself 
that he didn't like to take in vagabonds that came from 

35 nobody knows where, perhaps from prison; and then added, 
"I shall keep an eye on that old man." 

Days and weeks passed. The work that had been given 
to him was to scrape the mill-wheel paddles with a knife, so 
that stones and sand could not lodge there. At first, the 

40 work was very painful, on account of the noise of the 
stream always beside him; it made him shudder; but he 



THE CRIME OF OLD BLAS. IO3 

soon resigned himself to it. Old and bent, he ran his knife 
amid the paddles and always looked as if he were thinking 
of something afar off. 

45 The death of his grandson had nearly killed him. He 
was not even sure now 7 that he himself was alive. His ideas 
grew obscure, his mind confused. He had only these 
thoughts — little Bias was in the water — it is all true — it is 
all over — now they know all at the farm and, in their tears, 

50 curse him ;. and he was as if made drowsy by the weight of 
his sorrow. 

Being so absorbed, he did not notice the glances that the 
other workmen cast- on him. At noon, nobody spoke to 
him, but he would not have heard them if they had. He 

55 did not think how suspicious his silence was ; he did not 
know what stories were told about him. 

They said that perhaps he had more money than he 
showed. It happened frequently that a thief, having robbed 
some peasant, made a show of working and of being poor, 

60 for a time, so as not to awaken suspicion. They even 
said he might have assassinated somebody in order to rob 
them, because one evening, seated by the water, watching 
with a mournful eye its rapid flow, he had been heard repeat- 
ing in a low voice : " Ah ! my poor Bias, my poor Bias, I 

65 have killed him ! " 

All this talk made the master determined to find out the 
truth. The peddlers who go from valley to valley hear 
much gossip and never keep it to themselves. 

So one day the master made old Bias come to him. As 

70 he was a rough man, he said harshly, " Old man, you must 
leave." 

Bias, stupefied, said, " Go away ! Why ? " 
" Don't pretend you don't understand," said the master, 
" we know your story." 

75 " Well ? " said the old man. 

" Well, said the master, " it is possible that you did not 



104 THE CRIME OF OLD BLAS. 

kill the child, I do not say that you did kill him, but you 
went out together, you were alone together, the child did not 
come back, and you fled without saying anything to the 

80 parents." 

Old Bias burst into tears. Ah, Heaven ! see what they 
believed ; that he had killed Bias, his little Bias, for whom 
he would have died twenty times, had it been possible ; who 
was all his delight, all his joy, all his life ! He tried to 

85 explain, but the story about the bridge, which was raised 
and lowered, did not appear very clear. A child that falls 
into the water at the very moment a train is passing — 
it is very unlikely. And then to think that this poor man, a 
peasant, hardly knowing how to read, had had the perfect 

90 heroism to sacrifice his grandson for the safety of some 
unknown travelers. It ivoidd be necessary to esteem him so 
much that it was much simpler to judge him guilty. 

He himself, who had done a sublime act, without analyz- 
ing it ; naturally, because it seemed that he ought to do it, 

95 could not now explain the sentiment that had animated him ; 
he could not find words to justify himself; he stammered 
and grew ashamed. 

The master said, " All is possible, we will not discuss it. 
It is not I who send you away ; all my workmen will leave 
loo me if I do not dismiss you. There they are ; speak to 
them ; they will not conceal their opinions. 

The workmen entered, two by two, carrying long, swaying 
planks. They formed a group, spoke in low tones, and then 
from all sides words like these were heard : " Yes, yes, the 
105 old man must go. We will not have him among us. It is 
too bad to have to work beside a man who has killed a child ; 
to sit beside him at table. Just a glance at his hands and 
one must shudder. His face, too, says very well what he 
is. Come, draw your wages, old man, and don't let us see 
no you around here again, or one of us will make an end of 
you." 



THE CRIME OF OLD BLAS. 105 

Under this unjust wrath, before these menaces, old Bias 
bent as if he were a criminal, opened the door with trem- 
bling hands and went out. Poor, admirable old man ! 

115 When he commenced to mount the side of the valley, he 
looked back and saw all the workmen before the mill, who 
cursed him still with cries he could no longer hear, and who 
still shook their fists furiously after him. 

He advanced through a ravine, the old bed of a moun- 

120 tain torrent, dry at that season. The stones, rolling under 
his heavy step, made it hard walking. The little Bias had 
perished in calling to him, stretching out his arms to him ; 
he had been forced to flee the dear farm where his happy 
old age laughed, and this was not enough. Now they 

125 accused him of a crime, and because he had done right, they 
believed him infamous. 

All this seemed very cruel to him. He suffered the more 
because in his obscure conscience, the conviction of having 
done well was not sufficiently clear to enable him to console 

130 himself, for injustice done him, by pride in his noble deed. 
A strong mind would have asserted itself, certain of its 
rectitude, but this humble intelligence bent under the load. 
He had even sometimes the idea that he was wrong, since 
all the world said so. 

135 Where would he go now ? They sent him away from here ; 
they would send him away everywhere. To return to the 
farm ? He would never dare. How would Cadije feel 
toward him ? How Antonin Perdigut would hate him, since 
people who were neither the father nor the mother hated 

140 him so much. He must go on, that was evident. But to go 
on without knowing where, when the heart is heavy with sor- 
row and the eyes are full of tears, when you are sleepy and 
hungry and very old, — ah ! it is terrible. 

Without rebelling, still submissive, he, nevertheless, could 

145 not keep from thinking that all the world was very bitter 
against him, a poor old man. 



106 THE CRIME OF OLD BLAS. 

He climbed upward, pushing through bushes, which 
scratched his face and tore his beard : maltreated by things 
as well as by man, he thinks that he resembles a little that 

150 Guignonet of the story^ always punished when he had done 
nothing bad. 

The day appeared very long. His old limbs were fatigued 
with climbing slowly, but steadily, the rocky ravine. When 
evening came, having neither eaten nor drank, he felt that 

155 he could go no farther. He threw himself down on a rock, 
and rested against a fir trunk, worn out, desolate. 

Around him were innumerable blocks of granite, huge, 
weather-beaten, broken by avalanches of long ago. A som- 
ber verdure grew between the rocks, and against the sky, 

160 where the clouds were gathering, the savage cliff raised 
itself, black and threatening. 

Suddenly, with inconceivable quickness, a thunder-storm 
bends the trees, moves the huge stones, raises a whirlwind of 
branches and stones. These sudden storms are common in 

165 the Pyrenees. The traveler hardly sees the lightning, 
before he is enveloped by the whirlwind. 

The clouds, hurling themselves together, thunder : from 
their broken sides the rain pours down, driven in sheets by 
the wind; already it is running in streams clown the rocks. 

lro Broken tree-trunks roll down, stripped of foliage ; bowlders 
leap from side to side of the ravine and, above the howl- 
ing of the storm, now sounds the roar of the avalanche.* 

It has carried away old Bias. From stone to stone, from 
tree to tree, amid this tumultuous descent, with hands and 

175 head bleeding, dragged as if on an immense hurdle, he can 
not save himself until the bottom of the ravine is reached. 
Rocks and trees pile themselves above him, bruised 
wounded, dying, as if heaven itself had built his tomb. 

Under the ever increasing weight of stones which pressed 

180 upon him, he was dying. Every inch of his body was in 
agony. 



THE CRIME OF OLD ELAS. I07 

And then, ready to render up his soul, this old man, al- 
though hitherto resigned, revolted. 

No ! He had done no wrong ! And it was terrible, that 

185 chance first, then man, and now nature, had been so bitter 
against him. The plain had cast him unto the mountain, 
and lo ! the mountain had cast him unto death. 

Ah, well ; there was, then, no such thing as justice ; there 
was no good God. With what could he be reproached ? 

190 Nothing. Why then must he suffer ? Why kill him ? 

He panted under the immense weight, while the thunder 
roared and the wind howled. 

But hold ! He feels a great numbness that mounts his 
legs, gains his chest, and finally reaches his head, now less 

195 painful. Blood still flows from his wounds, but he feels them 
less and less. He enters into a kind of calm, deep and pro- 
found, perhaps because it is the beginning of the everlast- 
ing sleep. He hears only vaguely, and like a noise that 
comes from afar off, the thundering of the tempest. Then 

200 he ceases to hear even that. He can almost believe he 
is sleeping in his old bed at the farm, so soft the stones 
seem, so comfortable is everything. 

Thus, as in a dream, he thinks that he is again on the 
banks of the river, near the bridge, playing with little Bias 

205 amid the flowers of the garden. Yes, the little Bias is 

there ! Oh ! he knows well when he had the little Bias on 

his knees ! But the child is no longer a child ; his face shines 

like a brilliant star; he has wings, white like the seraphim. 

The little Bias says to him, " Now, that I am in heaven, I 

210 know many stories, and I will tell you some if you wish. 
The end of your beautiful story about the boy without ears 
and the dog who smoked his pipe — the end of that delight- 
ful story you were rather in doubt about, were you not ? 
Listen, grandpa, I will tell it to you myself. 

215 "When the little Guignonet found himself in prison, be- 
cause they accused him of having stolen, he was at first 



108 THE CRIME OF OLD BLAS. 

very sad, as you are now. He, also, had done nothing but 
good, and all the world was against him, because of the 
good he had done. But while he was weeping, believing 

220 that he was lost, behold ! the black dog who smoked his 
pipe entered the dungeon, still smoking the pipe, and said, 
' Guignonet, thy trials are over. The beggar on the road 
who returned you your sou with curses, it was I. The hen 
whose eggs you broke, it was I. The raven with great 

225 wings and the dwarf and the policemen — each was I. But 
I am not a black dog who smokes his pipe. I am a fairy, a 
good fairy. Look at me/ 

" And then the prison was no longer a prison, but a garden 
all ablaze with luminous flowers. And Guignonet saw a 

230 beautiful lady with golden hair, who was clad like the sun in 
splendor, and who had a diamond wand. 

"' Guignonet,' said she, ' you have resisted all tempta- 
tions, you have never rebelled against injustice ; now rejoice, 
because you are in the golden garden of heaven, where.you 

235 will play forever, with little angels as companions. ' And 
when she had spoken thus, the fairy disappeared. Guigno- 
net saw running toward him a crowd of beautiful children, 
more beautiful than he had ever imagined. They asked 
him to come and play with them, and there is nothing more 

240 pleasant than to play hide and seek in the garden of heaven. " 

It was thus that the little Bias, an angel with snowy 

wings, spoke to old Bias lying under the rocky debris, and 

thus ended the history of " the Little Boy who had no Ears 

and the Black Dog who smoked his Pipe." 

245 And the good man, understanding now that justice does 
exist and that there is a good God, died, without sorrow, on 
the hard bed of rocks, pressing against his heart the little 
Bias, now the little angel. 

The grandfather hastened to hear the beautiful stories 

250 that the child in his turn was now going to tell him in the 
garden of heaven. 



FROM THE APENNINES TO THE 

ANDES. 

BY 

EDMONDO DE AMICIS. 
Translated from the Italian by Isabel IIapgood. 

Many years ago a Genoese lad of thirteen, the son of a 
workingman, went from Genoa to America, all alone, to 
seek his mother. 

His mother had gone two years before to Buenos Ayres, 

5 a city, the capital of the Argentine Republic, to take service 
in a wealthy family, and to thus earn in a short time enough 
to place her family once more in easy circumstances, they 
having fallen through various misfortunes into poverty and 
debt. There are courageous women — not a few — who 

10 take this long voyage with this object in view, and who, 
thanks to the large wages which people in service receive 
there, return home at the end of a few years with several 
thousand lire. The poor mother had wept tears of blood at 
parting from her children, — the one aged eighteen, the 

15 other eleven, but she had set out courageously and filled 
with hope. 

The voyage was prosperous ; she had no sooner arrived 
at Buenos Ayres than she had found through a Genoese 
shopkeeper, a cousin of her husband, who had been estab- 

20 lished there for a very long time, a good Argentine family, 
which gave high wages and treated her well. And for a 
short time she kept up a regular correspondence with her 
family. As it had been settled between them, her husband 
addressed his letters to his cousin, who transmitted them to 

109 



110 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES, 

25 the woman, and the latter handed her replies to him, and he 
dispatched them to Genoa, adding a few lines of his own. 
As she was earning eighty lire a month and spending noth- 
ing for herself, she sent home a handsome sum every three 
months, with which her husband, who was a man of honor, 

30 gradually paid off their most urgent debts, and thus re- 
gained his good reputation. And in the mean time he 
worked away and was satisfied with the state of his affairs, 
since he also cherished the hope that his wife would shortly 
return ; for the house seemed empty without her, and the 

35 younger son in particular, who was extremely attached to 
his mother, was very much depressed, and could not resign 
himself to having her so far away. 

But a year had elapsed since they had parted ; after a 
brief letter in which she said her health was not very good, 

40 they heard nothing more. They wrote twice to the cousin ; 
the cousin did not reply. They wrote to the Argentine 
family where the woman was at service ; but it is possible 
that the letter never reached them, for they had distorted 
the name in addressing it ; they received no answer. * Fear- 

45 ing a misfortune they wrote to the Italian Consulate at 
Buenos Ayres to have inquiries made, and after a lapse of 
three months they received a response from the consul, that 
in spite of advertisements in the newspapers no one had pre- 
sented herself nor sent any word. And it could not have 

50 happened otherwise, for this reason if for no other : that 
with the idea of sparing the good, name of her family, which 
she fancied she was discrediting by becoming a servant, the 
good woman had not given her real name to the Argentine 
family. 

55 Several months more passed by ; no news. The father 
and sons were in consternation ; the youngest was oppressed 
by a melancholy which he could not conquer. What was to 
be done ? To whom should they have recourse ? The 
father's first thought had been to set out, to go to America 



FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 1 1 1 

60 in search of his wife. But his work ? Who would support 
his sons ? And neither could the eldest son go, for he had 
just begun to earn something, and he was necessary to the 
family. And in this anxiety, they lived, repeating each day 
the same sad speeches or gazing at each other in silence ; 

65 when, one evening, Marco, the youngest, declared with 
decision, " I am going to America to look for my 
mother." 

His father shook his head sadly, and made no reply. It 
was an affectionate thought, but an impossible thing. To 

70 make a journey to America which required a month, alone, 
at the age of thirteen ! But the boy patiently insisted. He 
persisted that day, the day after, every day, .with great calm* 
ness, reasoning with the good sense of a man. " Others 
have gone thither/' he said, " and smaller boys than I, too. 

75 Once on board the ship, I shall get there like anybody else. 
Once arrived there, I only have to hunt up our cousin's 
shop. There are plenty of Italians there who will show me 
the street. After finding our cousin, my mother is found ; 
and if I do not find him, I will go to the consul; I will 

80 search out that Argentine family. Whatever happens, there 
is work for all there ; I shall find work there also ; sufficient, 
at least, to earn enough to get home." And thus little by 
little he almost succeeded in persuading his father. His 
father esteemed him ; he knew that he had good judgment 

85'and courage, that he was inured to privations and to sacri- 
fices, and that all these good qualities had acquired double 
force in his heart in consequence of the sacred project of 
finding his mother, whom he adored. In addition to this 
the captain of a steamer, the friend of an acquaintance of 

90 his, having heard the plan mentioned, undertook to obtain a 
free third-class passage for the Argentine Republic. 

And then, after a little hesitation, the father gave his con- 
sent. The voyage was decided on. They filled a sack with 
clothes for him, put a few crowns in his pocket, and gave 



112 FROM THE APENNWES TO THE ANDES. 

95 him the address of his cousin ; and one fine evening in 
April they saw him on board. 

"Marco, my son," his father said to him, as he gave him 
his last kiss, with tears in .his eyes, on the steps of the 
steamer, which was on the point of starting, " take courage. 

100 Thou hast set out on a holy undertaking and God will aid 
thee." 

Poor Marco ! His heart was strong and prepared for the 
hardest trials of this voyage ; but when he beheld his beau- 
tiful Genoa disappear on the horizon, and found himself on 

105 the open sea, on that huge steamer thronged with emigrating 
peasants, alone, unacquainted with any one, with that little 
bag which held his entire fortune, a sudden discouragement 
assailed him. For two days he remained crouching like a 
dog on the bows, hardly eating, and oppressed with a great 

no desire to weep. Every description of sad thoughts passed 
through his mind, and the saddest, the most terrible, was the 
one which was the most persistent in its return, — the 
thought that his mother was dead. In his broken and pain- 
ful slumbers he constantly beheld a strange face, which sur- 

115 veyed him with an air of compassion, and whispered in his 
ear, " Your mother is dead ! " And then he awoke, stifling 
a shriek. 

Nevertheless, after passing the Straits of Gibraltar, at the 
first sight of the Atlantic Ocean he recovered his spirits a 

120 little, and his hope. But & was only a brief respite. That 
vast but always smooth sea, the increasing heat, the misery 
of all those poor people who surround him, the conscious- 
ness of his own solitude, overwhelmed him once more. The 
empty and monotonous days which succeeded each other 

125 became confounded in his memory as is the case with sick 
people. It seemed to him he had been at sea a year. And 
every morning, on waking, he felt surprised afresh at finding 
himself there alone on that vast watery expanse, on his way 
to America. The beautiful flying fish which fell on deck 



FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES 113 

130 every now and then, the marvelous sunsets of the tropics 
with their enormous clouds colored like flame and blood, 
and those nocturnal phosphorescences which make the 
ocean seem all on fire like a sea of lava, did not produce on 
him the effect of real things, but of marvels beheld in a 

135 dream. There were days of bad weather, during which he 
remained constantly in the cabin, where everything was 
rolling and crashing in the midst of a terrible chorus of 
lamentations and imprecations, and he thought that his last 
hour had come. There were other days, when the sea was 

140 calm and yellowish, of insupportable heat, of infinite tedious- 
ness ; interminable and wretched hours, during which the 
enervated passengers, stretched motionless on the planks, 
seemed lifeless. And the voyage was endless ; sea and 
sky, sky and sea ; to-day the same as yesterday, to-morrow 

145 like to-day, and so on, always, eternally. 

And for long hours he stood leaning on the bulwarks gaz- 
ing at that interminable sea in amazement, thinking vaguely 
of his mother, until his eyes closed and his head was droop- 
ing with sleep ; and then again he beheld that unknown face 

150 which gazed' at him with an air of compassion, and repeated 

in his ear, " Your mother is dead ! " and at the sound of that 

voice he awoke with a start, to resume his dreaming with 

wide-open eyes, and to gaze at the unchanging horizon. 

The voyage lasted twenty-seven clays. But the last days 

155 were the best. The weather was fine, and the air cool. 
He had made the acquaintance of a good old man, a Lom- 
bard, who was going to America to find his son, an agricul- 
turist in the vicinity of the town of Rosario ; he had told 
him his whole story, and the old man kept repeating every 

160 little while, as he tapped him on the nape of the neck with 
his hand, " Courage, my lad ; you will find your mother 
well and happy." 

This companionship comforted him ; his sad presenti- 
ments were turned into joyous ones. Seated on the bow, 
8 



114 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 

165 beside the aged peasant, who was smoking his pipe, 
beneath the beautiful starry heaven, in the midst of a 
group of singing peasants, he imagined to himself a 
hundred times his arrival at Buenos Ayres ; he saw him- 
self in a certain street ; he found the shop, he flew to his 

no cousin. " How is my mother ? Come let us go at once ! 
Let us go at once ! " They hurried on together ; they 
ascended a staircase ; a door opened. And here his mute 
soliloquy came to an end ; his imagination was swallowed up 
in a feeling of inexpressible tenderness, which made him 

175 secretly pull forth a little medal that he wore on his neck, 
and murmur his prayers as he kissed it. 

On the twenty-seventh day after their departure they 
arrived. It was a beautiful, rosy May morning, when the 
steamer cast anchor in the immense river of the Plata, near 

180 the shore along which stretches the vast city of Buenos 
Ayres, the capital of the Argentine Republic. This splendid 
weather seemed to him to be a good augury. He was beside 
himself with joy and impatience. His mother was only a 
few miles from him. In a few hours more he would have 

185 seen her ! He was in America, in the new world, and he 
had had the daring to come alone. The whole of that ex- 
tremely long voyage now seemed to him to have passed in 
an instant. It seemed to him that he had flown hither in a 
dream, and that he had that moment waked. And he 

190 was so happy, that he hardly experienced any surprise or 
distress when he felt in his pockets and found only one of 
the two little heaps into which he had divided his little 
treasure, in order to be the more sure of not losing the whole 
of it. He had been robbed ; he had only a few lire left ; 

195 but what mattered that to him, when he was near his mother ? 
With his bag in his hand, he descended, in company w r ith 
many other Italians, to the tug-boat which carried him to 
within a short distance of the shore ; clambered from the 
tug into a boat which bore the name of Andrea Doria ; was 



FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 1 1 5 

200 landed on the wharf, saluted his old Lombard friend, and 
directed his course, in long strides towards the city. 

On arriving at the entrance of the first street, he stopped 
a man who was passing by, and begged him to show him in 
what direction he should go in order to reach the street 

205 del los Artes. He chanced to have stopped an Italian work- 
ingman. The latter surveyed him with curiosity, and in 
quired if he knew how to read. The lad nodded, " Yes." 

"Well then," said the laborer, pointing to the street, from 
which he had just emerged, " keep straight on through 

210 there, reading the names of all the streets on the corners ; 
you will end by finding the one you want." 

The boy thanked him and turned into the street which 
opened before him. 

It was a straight and narrow street, bordered by low 

215 white houses, which looked like so many little villas, 
filled with people, with carriages, with carts which made a 
deafening noise ; here and there floated enormous banners 
of various hues, with announcements as to the departure of 
steamers for strange cities inscribed upon them in large 

220 letters. At every little distance along the street, on the 
right and left, he perceived two other streets which ran 
straight away as far as he could see, also bordered by low, 
white houses, filled with people and vehicles, and bounded 
at their extremity by the level line of the measureless plains 

225 of America, like the horizon at sea. The city seemed 
infinite to him; it seemed to him he might wander for days 
or weeks, seeing other streets like these, on one hand and 
on the other, and that all America must be covered with 
them. He looked attentively at the names of streets ; 

230 strange names which cost him an effort to read. At every 
fresh street he felt his heart beat, at the thought that it was 
the one he was in search of. He stared at all the women, 
with the thought that he might meet his mother. He 
caught sight of one in front of him who made Jiis blood 



I 1 6 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 

235 leap; he overtook her ; she was a negro. And accelerating 
his pace, he walked on and on. On arriving at the cross- 
street, he read, and stood as though rooted to the sidewalk. 
It was the street del los Artes. He turned into it, and saw 
the No. 117, his cousin's shop was No. 175. He quick- 
240 ened his pace still more, and almost ran ; at No. 171 he had 
to pause to regain his breath. And he said to himself, " O, 
my mother ! my mother ! It is really true that I shall see 
you in another moment ! " He ran on ; he arrived at a little 
haberdasher shop. This was it. He stepped up close to 
245 it. He saw a woman with gray hair and spectacles. 

"What do you want, boy?" she asked him in Span- 
ish. 

" Is not this," said the boy, making an effort to utter a 
sound, " the shop of Francesco Merelli ?" 
250 " Francesco Merelli is dead," replied the woman in 
Italian. 

The boy felt as though he had received a blow on his 
breast. 

"When did he die?" 
255 " Eh ? quite a while ago," replied the woman. " Months 
ago. His affairs were in a bad state, and he ran away. 
They say he went to Bahia Blanca, very far from here. 
And he died just after he reached there. The shop is 
mine." 
260 The boy turned pale. 

Then he said quickly, " Merelli knew my mother ; my 

mother who was at service with Signor Mequinez. He 

alone could tell me where she is. I have come to America 

to find my mother. Merelli sent her our letters. I 

265 must find my mother." 

" Poor boy ! " said the woman ; " I don't know. I can 
ask the boy in the courtyard. He knew the young man who 
did Merelli's errands. He may be able to tell us some- 
thing." 



FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 1 1 7 

270 She went to the end of the shop and called the lad, who 
came instantly. "Tell me," asked the shop-woman, " do 
you remember whether Merelli's young man went occasion- 
ally to carrv letters to a woman in service, in the house of 
the son of the country ? " 
2T5 "To Signor Mequinez," replied the lad; " yes, signora, 
sometimes he did. At the end of the street del los Artes." 

"Ah! thanks, signora!" cried Marco. "Tell me the 
number; don't you know it? Send some one with me; 
come with me instantly, my boy ; I have still a few soldi." 
280 And he said this with so much warmth, that without wait- 
ing for the woman to request him, the boy replied, " Come," 
and at once set out at a rapid pace. 

They proceeded almost at a run, without uttering a word, 
to the end of the extremely long street, made their way into 
285 the entrance of a little white house, and halted in front of a 
handsome iron gate,, through which they could see a small 
yard rilled with vases of flowers. Marco gave a tug at the 
bell. 

A young lady made her appearance. 
200 "The Mequinez family lives here^ does it not?" de- 
manded the lad anxiously. 

" They did live here," replied the young lady, pronounc- 
ing her Italian in Spanish fashion. " Now we, the Zeballos, 
live here." 
295 " And where have the Mequinez gone ? " asked Marco, 
his heart palpitating. 

"They have gone to Cordova." 

"Cordova!" exclaimed Marco. "Where is Cordova? 
And the person whom they had in their service ? The 
soo woman, my mother ! Their servant was my mother ! Have 
they taken my mother away, too ? " 

The young lady looked at him and said, "I do not know. 
Perhaps my father may know, for he knew them when they 
went away. Wait a minute," 



Il8 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 

305 She ran away, and soon returned with her father, a tall 

. gentleman, with a gray beard. He looked intently for a 

minute at this sympathetic type of a little Geneose sailor, 

with his golden hair and his aquiline nose, and asked him 

in broken Italian, " Is your mother a Genoese ? " 

310 Marco replied that she was. 

" Well, then, the Genoese maid went with them ; that I 
know for certain." 

" And where have they gone ? " 
" To Cordova, a city." 
315 The boy gave vent to a sigh ; then he said with resigna- 
tion, " Then I will go to Cordova." 

" Ah, poor child ! " exclaimed the gentleman in Spanish ; 
" poor boy ! Cordova is hundreds of miles from here." 
Marco turned white as a corpse and clung with one hand 
320 to the railings. 

" Let us see, let us see," said the gentleman, moved to 
pity, and opening the door-, "come inside a moment; let 
us see if anything can be done." He sat down, gave the 
boy a seat, and made him tell his story, listened to it very 
325 attentively, meditated a little, then said resolutely, " You 
have no money, have you ? " 

" I still have some, a little," answered Marco. 
The gentleman reflected for five minutes more ; then 
seated himself at a desk, wrote a letter, sealed it, and hand- 
330 ing it to the boy, he said to him : — 

" Listen to me, little Italian. Take this letter to Boca. 
That is a little city which is half Genoese, and lies two 
hours' journey from here. Anyone will be able to show you 
the road. Go there and find the gentleman to whom this 
335 letter is addressed, and whom every one knows. Carry the 
letter to him. He will send you off to the town of Rosario to- 
morrow, and will recommend you to some one there, who will 
think out a way of enabling you to pursue your journey 
to Cordova, where you will find the Mequinez family and your 



FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 1 1 9 

340 mother. In the mean while, take this." And he placed in 
his hand a few lire. " Go, and keep up your courage ; you 
will find fellow-countrymen of yours in every direction, and 
you will not be deserted. Adios ! " 

The boy said, " Thanks," without finding any other* words 

345 to express himself, went out with his bag, and having taken 
leave of his little guide, he set out slowly in the direction of 
Boca, filled with sorrow and amazement, across that great 
and noisy town. 

Everything that happened to him, from that moment 

350 until the evening of that day, ever afterwards lingered in his 
memory in a confused and uncertain form, like the wild 
vagaries of a person in a fever, so weary was he, so 
troubled, so despondent. And at nightfall on the following 
day, after having slept over night in a poor little chamber in 

355 a house in Boca, beside a harbor porter, after having passed 
nearly the whole of that day seated on a pile of beans, and, 
as in delirium, in sight of thousands of ships and boats and 
tugs, he found himself on the poop of a large sailing vessel, 
loaded with fruit, which was setting out for the town of 

3W Rosario, managed by three robust Genoese, who were 
bronzed by the sun ; and their voices and the dialect which 
they spoke put a little comfort Into his heart once more. 

They set out, and the voyage lasted three days and four 
nights, and it was a continual amazement to the little 

365 traveler. Three days and four nights on that wonderful 
river Parana, in comparison with which our great Po is but 
a rivulet ; and the length of Italy quadrupled does not equal 
that of its course. The barge advanced slowly against the 
immeasurable mass of water. It threaded its way among 

3ro long islands, once the haunts of serpents and tigers, covered 
with orange trees and willows, like floating coppices ; now 
they passed through narrow canals, from which it seemed 
they could never issue forth ; now they sailed out on vast 
expanses of water, having the aspect of great tranquil lakes ; 



120 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 

375 then among islands again, through the intricate channels of 
an archipelago, amid enormous masses of vegetation. A 
profound silence reigned. For long stretches the shores and 
the vast and solitary waters produced the impression of 
an* unknown stream, upon which this poor little sail was 

380 the first in all the world to venture itself. The further they 
advanced, the more this monstrous stream amazed him. He 
imagined that his mother was at its source, and that their 
navigation must last for years. Twice a day he ate a little 
bread and salted meat with the boatmen, who, perceiving 

385 that he was sad, never addressed a word to him. At night 
he slept on deck and woke every little while with a start, 
astounded by the limpid light of the moon, which silvered 
the immense expanse of water and the distant shores; and 
then his heart sank within him. "Cordova!" He re- 

390 peated that name, " Cordova ! " like the name of one of 
those mysterious cities of which he had heard in fables. 
But then he thought, " My mother passed this spot ; she saw 
these islands, these shores ; " and then these places upon 
which the glance of his mother had fallen no longer seemed 

395 strange and solitary to him. At night one of the boatmen 
sang. That voice reminded him of his mother's songs, 
when -she had lulled him to sleep as a little child. On the 
last night, when he heard that song, he sobbed. The boat- 
man interrupted his song. Then he cried, " Courage, 

400 courage, my son ! What ! A Genoese crying because he 
is far from home ! The Genoese make the circuit of the 
world, glorious and triumphant ! " 

And at these words he shook himself, he heard the voice 
of the Genoese race, and he raised his head aloft with 

405 pride, dashing his fist down on the rudder. " Well, yes," he 
said to himself ; " and if I am also obliged to travel for 
years and years to come, all over the world, and to traverse 
hundreds of miles on foot I will go on until I find my 
mother, were I to arrive in a dying condition, and fall dead 



FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 121 

410 at her feet ! If only I can see her once again ! Courage ! " 
And with this frame of mind he arrived at daybreak, on a 
cool and rosy morning, in front of the city of Rosario, 
situated on the high bank of the Parana, where the beflagged 
yards of a hundred vessels of every land were mirrored in 

415 the waves. 

Shortly after landing he went to the town, bag in hand, to 
seek an Argentine gentleman for whom his protector in 
Boca had intrusted him with a visiting-card, with a few 
words of recommendation. On entering Rosario, it seemed 

420 to him that he was coming into a city with which he was 
already familiar. There were the straight, interminable 
streets bordered with low white houses, traversed in all 
directions, above the roofs by great bundles of telegraph and 
telephone wires, which looked like enormous spiders' webs ; 

425 and a great confusion of people, of horses and of vehicles. 

His head grew confused ; he almost thought that he had 

got back to Buenos Ayres, and must hunt up his cousin once 

more. He wandered about for nearly an hour, making one 

turn after another, and seeming always to come back to the 

430 same street ; and by dint of inquiring, he found the house of 
his new protector. He pulled the bell. There came to the 
door a big, light-haired gruff man, who had the air of a 
steward, and who demanded awkwardly, with a foreign 
accent : — " What do you want ? " 

435 The boy mentioned the name of his patron. 

"The master has gone away ," replied the steward ;" he 
set out yesterday afternoon for Buenos Ayres, with his whole 
family." 

The boy was left speechless. Then he stammered, " But 

440 I — I have no one here ! I am alone ! " and he offered the 
card. 

The steward took it, read it, and said surlily : " I don't 
know what to do for you. I'll give it to him when he 
returns a month hence," 



122 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 

445 " But I, I am alone ; I am in need ! " exclaimed the lad } 
in a supplicating voice. 

" Eh ? come now," said the other ; " just as though there 
were not plenty of your sort from your country in Rosario ! 
Be off and do your begging in Italy ! " And he slammed 

450 the door in his face. 

The boy stood there as though he had been turned to 
stone. 

Then he picked up his bag again slowly, and went out, 
his heart torn with anguish, with his mind in a whirl, 

455 assailed all at once by a thousand anxious thoughts. What 
was to be done ? Where was he to go ? From Rosario to 
Cordova was a day's journey, by rail. He had only a few 
lire left. After deducting what he should be obliged to 
spend that day, he would have next to nothing left. Where 

460 was he to find the money to pay his fare ? He could work 
— but how? To whom should he apply for work? Ask 
alms ? Ah, no ! To be repulsed, insulted, humiliated, as 
he had been a little while ago ? No ; never, never more — 
rather would he die ! And at this idea and at the sight of 

465 the very long street which was lost in the distance of the 
boundless plain he felt his courage desert him once more, 
flung his bag on the sidewalk, sat down with his back 
against the wall, and bent his head between his hands, in an 
attitude of despair. 

470 People jostled him with their feet as they passed ; the vehi- 
cles filled the road with noise ; several boys stopped to look 
at him. He remained thus for a while. Then he was start- 
led by a voice saying to him in a mixture of Italian and 
Lombard dialect, " What is the matter, little boy? " 

475 He raised his face at these words and instantly sprang to 
his feet, uttering an exclamation of wonder ; " You here ! " 

It was the old Lombard peasant with whom he had struck 
up a friendship during the voyage. 

The amazement of the peasant was no less than his own ; 



FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 1 23 

480 but the boy did not leave him time to question him, and he 
rapidly recounted the state of his affairs. 

" Now I am without a soldo. I must go to work. Find 
me work, that I may get together a few lire. I will do any- 
' thing ; I will carry rubbish, I will sweep the streets ; I can 
485 run on errands, or even work in the country ; I am content 
to live on black bread ; but only let it be that I may set out 
quickly, that I may find my mother once more. Do me this 
charity, and find me work, find me work, for the love of 
God, for I can do no more ! " 
490 " Ah me, ah me ! " said the peasant, looking about him, 
• and scratching his chin. " What a story is this ! To 
work, to work ! — that is soon said. Let us look about a lit- 
tle. Is there no way of finding thirty lire among so many 
fellow-countrymen ? " 
495 The boy looked at him, consoled by a ray of hope. 
" Come with me ! " said the peasant. 
" Where ? " asked the lad, gathering up his bag again. 
" Come with me." 

The peasant started on ; Marco followed him. They 
500 traversed a long stretch of street together without speaking. 
The peasant halted at the door of an inn which had for its 
sign a star, and an inscription underneath, The Star of 
Italy, He thrust his face in, and turning to the boy, he 
said cheerfully, " We have arrived at just the right 
505 moment." 

They entered a large room, where there were numerous 
tables, and many men seated, drinking and talking loudly. 
The old Lombard approached the first table, and from the 
manner in which he saluted the six guests who were gath- 
510 ered around it, it was evident that he had been in their com- 
pany until a short time previously. They were red in the 
face, and were clinking their glasses, and vociferating and 
laughing. 

" Comrades," said the Lombard, without any preface, 



124 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 

515 remaining on his feet and presenting Marco, " here is a poor 
lad, our fellow countryman, who has come here alone from 
Genoa to Buenos Ayres, to seek his mother. At Buenos 
Ayres they told him ' She is not here , she is in Cordova/ 
He came in a bark to Rosario, three days and three nights 

520 on the way, with a couple of lines of recommendation. He 
presents the card ; they make an ugly face at him ; he 
hasn't a centesitno to bless himself with. He is here alone 
and in despair. He is a lad full of heart. Let us see a bit. 
Can't we find enough to pay for his ticket to go to Cordova in 

525 search of his mother ? Are we to leave him here like a 
dog ? " 

" Never in the world, by Heavens ! That shall never be 
said ! " they shouted all at once, hammering on the table 
with their fists, " A fellow-countryman of ours ! Come 

530 hither, little fellow ! We are emigrants ! See what a hand- 
some young rogue ! Out with your coppers, comrades ! 
Bravo ! Come alone ! He has daring ! Drink a sup, 
fiatriotta! We'll send you to your mother, never fear ! ' 
And one pinched his cheek, another slapped his shoulder, a 

535 third relieved him of his bag; other emigrants rose from 
neighboring tables, and gathered about ; the boy's story 
made the round of the inn, three Argentine guests hurried 
in from the adjoining room ; and in less than ten minutes 
the Lombard peasant who was passing round the hat, had 

5io collected forty-two lire. 

" Do you see," he then said, turning to the boy, " how 
fast things are done in America ? " 

" Drink ! " cried another to him, offering him a glass of 
wine ; " to the health of your mother ! " 

545 All raised their glasses, and Marco repeated, "To the 
health of my — " But a sob of joy choked him, and, setting 
the glass on the table, he flung himself on the old man's 
neck. 



FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 12$ 



PART II. 

At daybreak on the following morning Marco set out for 
Cordova, ardent and smiling, filled with presentiments of 
happiness. But there is no cheerfulness that rules for long in 
the face of certain sinister aspects of nature. The weather 

5 was close and dull ; the train, which was nearly empty, ran 
through an immense plain, destitute of every sign of habita- 
tion. He found himself alone in a very long car, which re- 
sembled those on trains for the wounded. He gazed to the 
right, he gazed to the left, and he saw nothing but an endless 

10 solitude, strewn with tiny deformed trees, with contorted 
trunks and branches, in attitudes such as were never seen 
before, almost of wrath and anguish, and a sparse and mel- 
ancholy vegetation, which gave to the plain the aspect of a 
ruined cemetery. 

15 He dozed for half an hour ; then resumed his survey ; the 
spectacle was still the same. The railway stations were de- 
serted, like the dwellings of hermits ; and when the train 
stopped, not a sound was heard ; it seemed to him that he 
was alone in a lost train, abandoned in the middle of a 

20 desert. It seemed to him as though each station must be 
the last, and that he should then enter the mysterious re- 
gions of the savages. An icy breeze nipped his face. On 
embarking at Genoa, towards the end of April, it had not 
occurred to him that he should find winter in America, and 

25 he was dressed for summer. 

After several hours of this he began to suffer from cold, 
and, in connection with the cold, from the fatigue of the 
days he had recently passed through, filled as they had been 
with violent emotions, and from sleepless and harassing 

30 nights. He fell asleep, slept a long time, and awoke be- 
numbed ; he felt ill. Then a vague terror of falling ill, of 
dying on the journey seized upon him ; a fear of being 



126 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 

thrown out there, in the middle of that desolate prairie, 
where his body would be torn in pieces by dogs and birds of 

35 prey, like the corpses of horses and cows which he had 
caught sight of every now and then beside the track, and 
from which he had turned aside his eyes in disgust. In this 
state of anxious illness, in the midst of that dark silence of 
nature, his imagination grew excited, and looked on the 

40 dark side of things. 

Was he quite sure, after all, that he should find his 
mother at Cordova ? And what if she had not gone there ? 
What if that gentleman in the Via del los Artes had made a 
mistake ? And what if she were dead ? Thus meditating, 

45 he fell asleep again, and dreamed that he was in Cordova, 
and it was night, and that he heard cries from all the doors 
and all the windows • " She is not here ! She is not here ! 
She is not here ! " This roused him with a start, in terror, 
and he saw at the other end of the car three bearded men 

50 enveloped in shawls of various colors who were staring at 
him and talking together in a low tone ; and the suspicion 
flashed across him that they were assassins, and that they 
wanted to kill him for the sake of stealing his bag. Fear 
was added to his consciousness of illness and to the cold; 

55 his fancy, already perturbed, became distorted ; the three 
men kept on staring at him, one of them moved towards 
him ; then his reason wandered, and rushing towards him 
with arms wide open, he shrieked, " I have nothing ; I am a 
poor boy; I have come from Italy; I am in quest of my 

go mother; I am alone ; do not do me any harm !" 

They instantly understood the situation ; they took com- 
passion on him, caressed and soothed him, speaking to him 
many words which he did not hear nor comprehend ; and 
perceiving that his teeth were chattering with cold, 

65 they wrapped one of their shawls around him, and 
made him sit down again, so that he might go to sleep. 
And he did fall asleep once more, when the twilight 



FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 12 J 

was descending. When they aroused him he was at Cor- 
dova, 
ro Ah, what a deep breath he drew, and with what impetuos- 
ity he flew from the car ! He inquired of one of the station 
employees where the house of the engineer Mequinez was 
situated; the latter mentioned the name of a church; it 
stood beside the church ; the boy hastened away. 
75 It was night. He entered the city, and it seemed to him 
that he was entering Rosario once more ; that he again be- 
held those straight streets, flanked with little white houses, 
and intersected by other very long and straight streets. 
But there were very few people, and under the light of the 
80 rare street lanterns he encountered strange faces of a hue 
unknown to him, between black and greenish ; and raising 
his head from time to time, he beheld churches of bizarre 
architecture which were outlined black and vast against the 
sky. The city was dark and silent, but after having trav- 
85 ersed that immense desert, it appeared lively to him. He 
inquired his way of a priest, speedily found the church and 
the house, pulled the bell with one trembling hand, and 
pressed the other on his breast to repress the beating of his 
heart, which was leaping into his throat. 
90 An old woman, with a light in her hand, opened the door. 

The boy could not speak at once. 

u Whom do you want ? " demanded the dame in Spanish. 

"The engineer Mequinez," replied Marco. 

The old woman made a motion to cross her arms on her 
95 breast, and replied, with a shake of the head: " So you, too, 
have dealings with the engineer Mequinez. It strikes me 
that it is time to stop this. We have been worried for the 
last three months. It is not enough that the newspapers have 
said it. We shall have to have it printed on the corner of the 
ioo street, that Signor Mequinez has gone to live at Tucuman ! " 

The boy gave way to a gesture of despair. Then he gave 
way to an outburst of passion. 



128 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 

" So there is a curse upon me ! I am doomed to die on 
the road, without having found my mother. I shall go 

105 mad ! I shall kill myself ! My God ! what is the name of 
that country? Where is it? At what distance is it sit- 
uated ? " 

" Eh, poor boy," replied the old woman, moved to pity ; 
" a mere trifle ! We are four or five hundred miles from 

no there, at least." 

The boy covered his face with his hands ; then he asked 
with a sob, " And now what am I to do ? " 

" What am I to say to you, my poor child ? " responded 
the dame. " I don't know." 

lis But suddenly an idea struck her, and she added hastily: 
" Listen ; now that I think of it, there is one thing that 
you can do. Go down this street, to the right, and at the 
third house you will find a courtyard ; there, there is a 
capataz, a trader, who is setting out to-morrow for Tucuman, 

120 with his wagons and his oxen. Go and see if he will take 
you, and offer him your services ; perhaps he will give you a 
place on his wagons ; go at once." 

The lad grasped his bag, thanked her as he ran, and two 
minutes later found himself in a vast courtyard, lighted by 

125 lanterns, where a number of men were engaged in loading 
sacks of grain on certain enormous carts which resembled 
the movable houses of mountebanks, with rounded tops and 
very tall wheels ; and a tall man with mustaches, enveloped 
in a sort of mantle of black and white check, and with big 

130 boots, was directing the work. 

The lad approached this man, and timidly proffered his 
request, saying that he had come from Italy, and that he 
was in search of his mother. 

The capataz, which signifies the head (the head conductor 

135 of this convoy of wagons), surveyed him from head to 
foot with a keen glance, and replied drily, " I have no 
place." 



FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES, 12Q 

"I have fifteen lire" answered the boy in a supplicating 

tone ; " I will give you my fifteen lire. I will work on the 

140 journey ; I will fetch the water and fodder for the animals ; 

I will perform all sorts of services. A little bread will 

suffice for me. Make a little place for me, signor." 

The capataz looked him over again, and replied with a bet- 
ter grace, " There is no room ; and then, we 'are not going 
145 to Tucuman; we are going to another town, Santiago dell' 
Estero. We shall have to leave you at a certain point, and 
you will still have a long way to go on foot." 

"Ah, I will make twice as long a journey !" exclaimed 

Marco. " I can walk ; do not worry about that ; I shall get 

150 there by some means or other ; make a little room for me, 

signor, out of charity ; for pity's sake, do not leave me here 

alone ! " 

" It is a journey of twenty days/' 
"It matters nothing to me," 
155 " It is a hard journey." 

" I will endure everything." 
" You will have to travel alone." 

" I fear nothing, if I can only find my mother. Have 
compassion ! " 
160 The capataz drew his face close to a lantern, and scruti- 
nized him. Then he said, " Very well." 
The lad kissed his hand. 

" You shall sleep in one of the wagons to-night," added 
the capataz, as he quitted him; "to-morrow morning, at 
165 four o'clock, I will wake you. Good night." 

At four o'clock in the morning, by the light of the stars, 
the long string of wagons was set in motion with a great 
noise ; each cart was drawn by six oxen, and all were fol- 
lowed by a great number of spare animals for a change, 
iro The boy who had been awakened and placed in one of 
the carts, on the sacks, instantly fell again into a deep sleep. 
When he awoke, the convoy had halted in a solitary spot, 
9 



130 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 

full in the sun, and all tke men — the peones — were seated 
around a quarter of calf, which was roasting in the open air, 

175 beside a large fire, which was flickering in the wind. They 
all ate together, took a nap, and then set out again ; and 
thus the journey continued, regulated like a march of 
soldiers. Every morning they set out on the road at five 
o'clock, halted at nine, set out again at five o'clock in the 

180 evening, and halted again at ten. The peones rode on 
horseback, and stimulated the oxen with long goads. The 
boy lighted the fire for the roasting, gave the beasts their 
fodder, polished up the lanterns, and brought water for 
drinking. 

185 The landscape passed before him like an indistinct vision : 
vast groves of little brow 7 n trees ; villages consisting of a few 
scattered houses, with red and battlemented facades ; very 
vast tracts, possibly the ancient beds of great salt lakes, 
which gleamed white with salt as far as the eye could reach ; 

190 and on every hand, and always the prairie, solitude, silence. 
On very rare occasions they encountered two or three travel- 
ers on horseback, followed by a herd of picked horses, who 
passed them at a gallop, like a whirlwind. The days were 
all alike, as at sea, wearisome and interminable ; but the 

195 weather was fine. But the peones became more and more 
exacting every clay, as though the lad were their bond slave ; 
some of them treated him brutally, with threats ; all forced 
him to serve them without mercy ; they made him carry 
enormous bundles of forage ; they sent him to get water at 

200 great distances ; and he, worn-out with fatigue, could not 
even sleep at night, continually tossed about as he was by 
the violent jolts of the wagon, and the deafening groaning 
of the wheels and wooden axles. And in addition to this, 
the wind having risen, a fine, reddish, greasy dust, which 

205 enveloped everything, penetrated the wagon, made its way 
under the covers, filled his eyes and mouth, robbed him of 
sight and breath, constantly, oppressively, insupportably. 



FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 131 

Worn out with toil and lack of sleep, reduced to rags and 
dirt, reproached and ill treated from morning till night, the 

210 poor boy firew every day more dejected, and would have 
lost heart entirely if the capataz had not addressed a kind 
word to him now and then. He often wept, unseen, in a 
corner of the wagon, with his face against his bag, which no 
longer contained anything but rags. Every morning he 

215 rose weaker and more discouraged, and as he looked out 
over the country, and beheld always the same bound- 
less plain, like a terrestrial ocean, he said to himself: 
" Ah, I shall not hold out until to-night ! I shall not hold 
out until to-night ! To-day I shall die on the road ! " And 

220 his toil increased ; his ill treatment was redoubled. One 
morning, in the absence of the capataz, one of the men 
struck him, because he had delayed in fetching the water. 
And then they all began to take turns at it, when they gave 
him an order, dealing him a kick saying : " Take that, you 

225 vagabond ! Carry that to your mother ! " 

His heart was breaking. He fell ill ; for three days he 
remained in the wagon, with a coverlet over him, fighting 
a fever, and seeing no one except the capataz who came to 
give him his drink and feel his pulse. And then he believed 

230 that he was lost, and invoked his mother in despair, calling 
her a hundred times by name : " O, my mother ! my mother ! 
Help me ! come to me, for I am dying ! Oh, my poor 
mother, I shall never see you again ! my poor mother, who 
will find me dead beside the way ! " And he folded his 

235 hands over his bosom and prayed. Then he grew better, 
thanks to the care of the capataz, and recovered, but with 
his recovery arrived the most terrible day of his journey, the 
day on which he was to be left to his own devices. They 
had been on the way for more than two weeks ; when they 

240 arrived at the point where the road to Tucuman parted from 
that which leads to Santiago dell' Estero, the capataz 
announced to him that they must separate. He gave him 



132 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 

some instructions with regard to the road, tied his bag on 
his shoulders in a manner which would not annoy him when 

245 he walked, and, breaking off short, as though he feared that 
he should be affected, he bade him farewell. The boy had 
hardly time to kiss him on one arm. The other men, too, 
who had treated him so harshly, seemed to feel a little pity 
at the sight of him left thus alone, and they made signs of 

250 farewell to him as they moved away. And he returned the 
salute with his hand, stood watching the convoy until it was 
lost to sight in the red dust of the plain, and then set out 
sadly on his road. 

On the other hand, one thing comforted him a little from 

255 the first. After all those days of travel across that endless 
plain, which was .forever the same, he saw before him a 
chain of mountains very high and blue, with white summits 
which reminded him of the Alps and gave him the feeling 
of having drawn near to his own country once more. They 

260 were the Andes, the dorsal spine of the American continent, 
that immense chain which extends from Terra del Fuego to 
the glacial sea of the Arctic pole, through a hundred and 
ten degrees of latitude. And he was also comforted by the 
fact that the air seemed to him to grow constantly warmer ; 

265 and this happened because, in ascending towards the north, 
he was slowly approaching the tropics. At great distances 
apart there were tiny groups of houses with a pretty shop ; 
and he bought something to eat. He encountered men on 
horseback ; every now and then he saw women and children 

270 seated on the ground, motionless and grave, with faces 
entirely new to him, of an earthen hue, with oblique eyes 
and prominent cheek bones, who looked at him intently,, 
and accompanied him with their gaze, turning their heads 
slowly like automatons. They were Indians. 

275 The first day he walked as long as his strength would per- 
mit, and slept under a tree. On the second day he made 
considerably less progress and with less spirit. His shoes 



FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 1 33 

were dilapidated, his feet wounded, his stomach weakened 
by bad food. Towards evening he began to be alarmed. 

280 He had heard, in Italy, that in this land there were ser- 
pents ; he fancied that he heard them crawling ; he halted, 
then set out on a run, and with cold chills in all his bones. 
At times he was seized with a profound pity for himself and 
he wept silently as he walked. Then he thought, " Oh, how 

285 much my mother would suffer if she knew that I am afraid ! " 
and this thought restored his courage. Then, in order to 
distract his thoughts from fear, he meditated much of her ; 
he called to mind her words when she set out from Genoa, 
and the movement with which she arranged the coverlet 

290 beneath his chin when he was in bed, and when he was a 
baby; for every time that she took him in her arms, she 
said to him, " Stay here a little while with me ; " and thus 
she remained for a long time with her head resting on his, 
thinking, thinking. 

295 And he said to himself : " Shall I see thee again, dear 
mother ? Shall I arrive at the end of my journey, my 
mother ? " And he walked on and on among strong trees, 
vast plantations of sugar-cane, and fields without end, 
always with those blue mountains in front of him, which cut 

300 the sky with their exceedingly lofty crests. Four days, five 
days — a week passed. His strength was rapidly declining, 
his feet were bleeding. Finally, one evening at sunset, they 
said to him : — 

" Tucuman is fifty miles from here." 

305 He uttered a cry of joy, and hastened his steps, as though 
he had, in that moment, regained all his lost vigor. But it 
was a brief illusion. His forces suddenly abandoned him, 
and he fell on the brink of a ditch, exhausted. But his 
heart was beating with content. The heaven, thickly sown 

310 with the most brilliant stars, had never seemed so beautiful 
to him. He contemplated it as he lay stretched out on 
the grass to sleep, and thought that, perhaps, at that 



134 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 

very moment, his mother was gazing at him. And he 
said : — 

315 " O, my mother, where art thou ? What art thou doing 
now ? Dost thou think of thy son ? Dost thou think of thy 
Marco who is so near to thee ? " 

Poor Marco ! If he could have seen in what peril his 
mother was at that moment, he would have made a super- 

320 human effort to proceed on his way, and to reach her a few 
hours earlier. She was ill in bed, in a ground-floor room of 
a lordly mansion, where dwelt the entire Mequinez family. 
The latter had become very fond of her, and had helped her 
a great deal. The poor woman had already been ailing when 

325 the engineer Mequinez had been obliged, unexpectedly, to set 
out far from Buenos Ayres, and she had not been benefited at 
all by the fine air of Cordova. But then, the fact that she 
had received no response to her letters from her husband, 
nor from her cousin, the presentiment, always lively, of some 

aao great misfortune, the continual anxiety in which she had 
lived, between the parting and the staying, expecting every 
day some bad news, had caused her to grow worse. Finally 
a very serious malady had declared itself. She had not risen 
from her bed for a fortnight. A surgical operation was 

335 necessary to save her life. And at precisely the moment 
when Marco was apostrophizing her, the master and mistress 
of the house were standing beside her bed,, arguing with her 
with great gentleness, to persuade her to allow herself to be 
operated on, and she was persisting in her refusal, and 

340 weeping. A good physician of Tucuman had come in vain 
a week before. 

"No, my dear master," she said, " do not count upon it ; 
I have not the strength to resist ; I should die under the 
surgeon's knife. It is better to allow me to die as I am. I no 

345 longer cling to life. All is at an end for me. It is better 
to die before learning what has happened to my family." 
Her master and mistress argued otherwise, and said that 



FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 1 35 

she must take courage ; that she would receive a reply to her 
last letters, which had been sent directly to Genoa ; that she 

350 must allow the operation to be performed ; that it must be 
done for the sake of her family. But this suggestion of her 
children only aggravated her profound discouragement, 
which for a long time prostrated her, with increasing 
anguish. At these words she burst into tears. 

355 " Ah, my sons ! my sons ! " she exclaimed, wringing her 
hands ; " perhaps they are no longer alive ! It is better 
that I should die also. I thank you, my good master and 
mistress; I thank you from my heart. But it is better 
that I should die. At all events, I am certain that I shall 

360 not be cured by this operation. Thanks for all your care, 
my good master and mistress. It is useless for the doctor 
to come again after to-morrow. I wish to die. It is my 
fate to die here. I have decided ! " 

And they began again to console her, and to repeat, 

365 " Don't say that." 

But she closed her eyes then in exhaustion, and fell into 
a doze, so that she appeared to be dead. Her master 
and mistress remained there a little while, by the faint light 
of a taper, watching with great compassion this admirable 

370 mother, who for the sake of saving her family, had come to 
die six thousand miles from her country, to die after having 
toiled so hard. Poor woman ! she was so honest, so good, 
so unfortunate ! 

Early on the morning of the following day, Marco, bent 

375 and limping, with his bag on his back, entered the city of 
Tucuman, one of the youngest and most flourishing towns 
of the Argentine Republic. It seemed to him, that he 
beheld again Cordova, Rosario, Buenos Ayres : there were 
the same straight and extremely long streets, the same low 

330 white houses, but on every hand there was a new and mag- 
nificent vegetation, a perfumed air, a marvelous light, a sky 
limpid and profound, such as he had never seen, even 



136 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 

in Italy. As he advanced through the streets, he expe- 
rienced once more the feverish agitation which had seized 
385 him at Buenos Ayres ; he stared at the windows and doors 
of all the houses ; he stared at all the women who passed 
him with an anxious hope that he might meet his mother ; 
he would have liked to question every one, but did not dare 
to stop any one. All the people who were standing at their 
390 doors turned to see the poor, tattered, dusty lad, who showed 
that he had come from afar. And he was seeking among 
all these people, a countenance which would inspire him 
with confidence, in order to direct to its owner that tremen- 
dous query, when his eyes fell upon the sign of an inn upon 
395 which was inscribed an Italian name. Inside were a man 
with spectacles, and two women. He approached the door 
slowly, and summoning up a resolute spirit, he inquired : — 

"Can you tell me, signor, where the family Mequinez is ? " 

" The engineer Mequinez ? " asked the innkeeper in his 
400 turn. 

" The engineer Mequinez," replied the lad in a tremulous 
voice. 

"The Mequinez family is not in Tucuman," replied the 
innkeeper. 
405 A cry of desperate pain, like that of one who has been 
stabbed, found an echo to these words. 

The innkeeper and the woman rose and some neighbors 
ran up. 

" What's the matter ? what ails you, my boy ? " said the 

410 innkeeper, drawing him into the shop and making him sit 

down. "Indeed, there's no reason for despairing! The 

Mequinez family is not here but at a little distance off, a 

few hours from Tucuman." 

" Where ? where ? " shrieked Marco, springing up like one 
415 restored to life. 

" Fifteen miles from here," continued the man, " on the 
river, at Saladillo, in a place where a big sugar factory is 



FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 1 37 

being built, and a cluster of houses ; Signor Mequinez's 
house is there ; every one knows it : you can reach it in a 
420 few hours." 

" I was there a month ago," said a youth, who had has- 
tened up at the cry. 

Marco stared at him with wide-open eyes, and asked him 
hastily, turning pale as he did so, " Did you see the servant 
425 of Signor Mequinez — the Italian ? " 
"The Genoese ? Yes ; I saw her." 

Marco burst into a convulsive sob, which was half a laugh 
and half a sob. Then, with a burst of violent resolution, 
" Which way am I to go ? quick, the road ! I shall set out 
430 instantly ; show me the way ! " 

" But it is a day's march," they all told him, in one breath. 
"You are weary; you should rest; you can set out to-mor- 
row." 

" Impossible ! impossible ! " replied the lad. " Tell me 
435 the way ; I will not wait another instant ; I shall set out at 
once, were I to die on the road." 

On perceiving him so inflexible, they no longer opposed 
him. " May God accompany you ! " they said to him. 
" Look out for the path through the forest. A fair journey 
440 to you, little Italian ! " A man accompanied him outside of 
the town, pointed out to him the road, gave him some good 
counsel, and stood still to watch him start. At the expira- 
tion of a few minutes, the lad disappeared, limping, with his 
bag on his shoulders, behind the thick trees which lined the 
445 road. 

Poor Marco, after having passed many hours on 
the brink of a ditch, his strength exhausted, walked 
through a forest of gigantic trees, monsters of vegeta- 
tion, huge boles like the pillars of a cathedral, which 
450 interlaced their enormous crests, silvered by the moon, 
at a wonderful height. Vaguely, amid the half gloom, 
he caught glimpses of myriads of trunks of all forms, up- 



138 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 

right, inclined, contorted, crossed in strange postures of 
menace and of conflict ; some overthrown on the earth, like 

455 towers which had fallen bodily, and covered with a dense 
and confused mass of vegetation, which seemed like a 
furious throng, disputing the ground span by span ; others 
collected in great groups, vertical and serrated, like trophies 
.of Titanic lances, whose tips touched the clouds ; a superb 

460 grandeur, a prodigious disorder of colossal forms, the most 
majestically terrible spectacle which vegetable nature ever 
presented. 

At times he was overwhelmed by a great stupor. But his 
mind instantly took flight again towards his mother. He 

465 was worn out, with bleeding feet, alone in the middle of this 
formidable forest, where it was only at long intervals that 
he saw tiny human habitations, which seemed like ant-hills, 
at the foot of these trees ; he was exhausted, but he was not 
conscious of his exhaustion; he was alone, and he felt no fear. 

470 The grandeur of the forest rendered his soul grand ; his 
nearness to his mother gave him the strength and the hardi- 
hood of a man ; the memory of the ocean, of the alarms and 
the sufferings which he had undergone and vanquishe'd, of the 
toil which he had endured, of the iron constancy which he 

475 had displayed, caused him to uplift his brow. All his strong 
and noble Genoese blood flowed back to his heart in an 
ardent tide of joy and intrepidity. And a new thing took 
place within him ; while he had, up to this time, borne in his 
mind an image of his mother, dimmed and paled somewhat 

480 by the two years of absence, at that moment the image grew 
clear ; he again beheld her face, perfect and distinct, as he 
had not beheld it for a long time ; he beheld it close to 
him, illuminated, speaking; he again beheld the most fleet- 
ing motions of her eyes, and of her lips, all her attitudes, all 

485 the shades of her thoughts ; and urged on by these gathering 
recollections, he hastened his steps ; and a new affection, an 
unspeakable tenderness, grew in his heart ; and as he ad- 



FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. I 39 

vanced through the gloom, he thought over the words 
which he would murmur in her ear in a little while more : — 

490 " I am here, my mother ; behold me here. I will never 
leave you again ; we shall return home together, and I will 
remain always beside you on board the ship, close beside 
you, and no one shall ever part me from you again, no one, 
so long as I have life ! " 

495 And in the mean time he did not observe how the silvery 
light of the moon was dying away on the summits of the 
gigantic trees in the delicate whiteness of dawn. 

At eight o'clock on that morning, the doctor from Tucu- 
man, a young Argentine, was already by the bedside of the 

500 sick woman, in company with an assistant, endeavoring, for 
the last time, to persuade her to undergo the operation, 
and the engineer Mequinez and his wife added their warmest 
persuasions. But all was in vain. The woman, feeling her 
strength exhausted had no longer any faith in the operation ; 

505 she was perfectly certain that* she would die under it, or that 
she would only survive it a few hours, after having suffered 
in vain pains that were more poignant than those of which 
she should die in any case. The doctor lingered to tell her 
once more : — 

510 " But the operation is a safe one ; your safety is certain, 
provided you exercise a little courage ! And your death is 
equally certain if you refuse ! " It was a sheer waste of 
words. 

" No," she replied in a faint voice, " I still have courage 

515 to die ; but I no longer have courage to suffer uselessly. 
Leave me to die in peace." 

The doctor desisted, in discouragement. No one said any- 
thing more. Then the woman turned her face towards her 
mistress, and addressed to her her last prayers in a dying 

520 voice. 

" Dear, good Signora," she said with a great effort, sob- 
bing, " you will send this little money and my poor effects 



I40 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 

to my family through the consul. I hope that they may all 
be alive. I feel in these, my last moments, that all is well 

525 with them. You will do me the favor to write — that I have 
always thought of them, that I have always toiled for them — 
for my children — that my sole grief was not to see them once 
more — but that I died courageously — with resignation — • 
blessing them , and that I recommend to my husband — and 

530 to my elder son — the youngest, my poor Marco — that I bore 
him in my heart until the last moment — " And suddenly 
she became excited, and shrieked, as she clasped her hands: 
" My Marco, my child ! my life ! — " But on casting 
her tearful eyes round her, she perceived that her mis- 

535 tress was no longer there ; she had been secretly called 
away. She sought her master ; he had disappeared. No 
one remained with her except the two nurses and the 
assistant. She heard in the adjoining room the sound of 
hurried footsteps, a murmur of hasty and subdued voices, 

540 and repressed exclamations. The sick woman fixed her glaz- 
ing eyes on the door, in expectation. At the end of a few 
minutes she saw the doctor appear with an unusual expres- 
sion on his face; then her mistress and master, with their 
countenances also altered. All three gazed at her with a 

545 singular expression, and exchanged a few words in a low 
tone. She fancied that the doctor said to her mistress, 
" Better let it be at once." She did not understand. 

" Josefa," said her mistress to the sick woman, in a trem- 
bling voice ; " I have some good news for you. Prepare 

550 your heart for good news." 

The woman observed her intently. 

" News," pursued the lady, with increasing agitation, 
" which will give you great joy." 
The sick woman's eyes dilated. 

555 " Prepare yourself," continued her mistress, "to see a 
person — of whom you are very fond." 

The woman raised her head with a vigorous movement, 



Prom the Apennines to the anbes. 141 

and began with flashing eyes, to look in rapid succession, 
first at the lady and then at the door. 

560 " A person," added the lady, turning pale, " who has just 
arrived — unexpectedly." 

" Who is it ? " shrieked the woman, with a strange and 
choked voice, like that of a person in terror. An instant 
later she gave vent to a shrill scream, sprang into a sitting 

565 posture in her bed, and remained motionless, with starting 
eyes, and her hands pressed to her temples, as in the pres- 
ence of a supernatural apparition. 

Marco, tattered and dusty, stood there on the threshold, 
held back by the doctor's hand on one arm. 

570 Marco rushed forward. His mother stretched out to him 
her attenuated arms, and, straining him to her heart, she 
burst into deep, tearless sobs, which caused her to fall back 
breathless on her pillow. 

But she speedily recovered herself, and, wild with joy, she 

575 cried, as she covered his head with kisses : " How do you 
come here ? Why, is it you ? How you have grown ! Who 
brought you ? Are you alone ? You are not ill ? It is you, 
Marco ! It is not a dream ! Speak to me ! " 

Then she suddenly changed her tone ; " No ! Be silent ! 

580 Wait ! " And turning to the doctor, she said : " Quick, 
doctor ! this instant ! I want to get well. I am ready. Do 
not lose a moment. Take Marco aw T ay, so that he may not 
hear. — Marco, my love, it is nothing. I will tell you about 
it. One more kiss. Go ! — Here I am, doctor." 

585 Marco was taken away. The master, the mistress, and the 
women retired in haste ; the surgeon and his assistant 
remained behind, and closed the door. 

Signor Mequinez attempted to lead Marco to- a distant 
room, but it was impossible ; he seemed rooted to the pave- 

590 ment. 

" What is it ? " he asked. " What is the matter with my 
mother ? What are they doing to her ? " 



142 FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 

And then Mequinez said softly, still trying to draw him 
away : " Here ! listen to me. I will tell you now. Your 
595 mother is ill ; she must undergo a little operation ; I will 
explain it all to you ; come with me." 

"No," replied the lad, resisting ;." I want to stay here. 
Explain it to me here." 

The engineer heaped words on words, as he drew him 
coo away ; the boy began to grow terrified and to tremble. ■ 

Suddenly an acute cry, like that of one wounded to the 
death, rang through the whole house. 

The boy responded with a cry of despair, " My mother 
is dead ! " 
605 The doctor appeared on the threshold and said, " Your 
mother is saved." 

The boy gazed at him for a moment, and then flung him- 
self at his feet, sobbing, " Thanks, doctor ! " 

But the doctor raised him up, saying ; " Rise ! It is you, 
610 you heroic child, who have saved your mother ! " 



ALPINE CLIMBING. 

BY 

PROFESSOR JOHN TYNDALL. 

PART I. 

THE MATTERHORN. 

The oil of life burnt rather low with me in 1868. Driven 
from London by Dr. Bence Jones, I reached the Giessbach 
hotel on the lake of Brientz early in July. No pleasanter 
position could be found for an invalid. My friend Hirst 
5 was with me, and we made various little excursions in the 
neighborhood. The most pleasant of these was to the 
Hinterburger See, a small and lonely lake high up among 
the hills, fringed on one side by pines, and overshadowed on 
the other by the massive limestone buttresses of the Hinter- 
10 burg. It is a*n exceedingly lovely spot, but rarely visited. 
The Giessbach hotel is an admirably organized establish- 
ment. The table is served by Swiss girls in Swiss costume, 
fresh, handsome, and modest, well brought up, who come 
there, not as servants, but to learn the mysteries of house- 
is keeping. And among her maidens moved, like a little 
queen, the daughter of the host— noiseless, but effectual in 
her rule and governance. I went to the Giessbach with a 
prejudice against the illumination of the fall. The crowd 
of spectators may suggest the theater, but the lighting up 
20 of the water is fine. I liked the colorless light best; it 
merely intensified the contrast revealed by ordinary daylight 
between the white foam of the cascades and the black 
surrounding pines. 

r 43 



144 ALPINE CLIMBING. 

From the Giessbach we went to Thun, and thence up the 

25 Simmenthal to Lenk. Over the sulphur spring a large hotel 

as been recently erected, and here we found a number of 

Swiss and Germans, who thought the waters did them good. 

In one large room the liquid gushes from a tap into a 

basin, diffusing through the place the odor of rotten eggs. 

30 The patients like this smell ; indeed they regard its foulness 
as a measure of their benefit. The director of the establish- 
ment is intelligent and obliging, sparing no pains to meet 
the wishes and promote the comfort of his guests. We 
wandered while at Lenk to the summit of the Rawyl pass, 

35 visited the Siebenbrunnen, where the river Simmen bursts 
full grown from the rocks, and we should have climbed up 
the Wilclstrubel had the weather been tolerable. From 
Lenk we went to Gsteig, a finely situated hamlet, but not 
celebrated for the peace and comfort of its inn ; and from 

40 Gsteig to the Diablerets hotel. While there I clambered up 
the Diablerets mountain, and was amazed at the extent of 
the snow field upon its tabular top. The peaks, if they ever 
existed, have been shorn away, and miles of flat neve, 
unseen from below, overspread their section. 

45 From the Diablerets we drove down to Aigle. The 
Traubenkur had not commenced, and there was therefore 
ample space for us at the excellent hotel. We were com- 
pelled to spend a night at Martigny. I heard the trumpet 
of its famous mosquito but did not feel its attacks. The 

50 following night was more pleasantly spent on the cool col 
of the Great St. Bernard. On Tuesday, July 21, we reached 
Aosta, and, in accordance with previous telegraphic arrange- 
ment, met there the Chanoine Carrel. Jean Jacques Carrel, 
the old companion of Mr. Hawkins and myself, and others 

55 at Breuil, were dissatisfied with the behavior of the bersaglier 
last year and this feeling the Chanoine shared. He had 
written to me during the winter, stating that two new men 
had scaled the ' Matterhorn and that they were ready to 



ALPINE CLIMBING. 145 

accompany me anywhere. He now drove, with Hirst and 

60 myself, to Chatillon, where at the noisy and comfortless inn 
we spent the night. Here Hirst quitted me, and I turned 
with the Chanoine up the valley to Breuil. 

At Val Tournanche I saw a maiden niece of the Chanoine 
who had gone high up the Matte rhorn, and who, had the 

65 wind not assailed her petticoats too roughly, might, it was 
said, have reached the top. I can believe it. Her wrist 
was like a weaver's beam, and her frame seemed a mass of 
potential energy. The Chanoine had recommended to me 
as guides the brothers Joseph and Pierre .Maquignaz, of Val 

70 Tournanche, his praises of Joseph as a man of unshaken 
coolness, courage and capacity as a climber, being partic- 
ularly strong. Previous to reaching Breuil, I saw this 
Joseph, who seemed to divine by instinct my name and aim. 
Carrel was at Breuil, looking very dark, Bich petitioned 

75 for a porter's post, blaming Carrel bitterly for his greed in 
the previous year ; but I left the arrangement of these 
matters wholly in the hands of Maquignaz. He joined 
me in the evening, and on the following day we ascended 
one of the neighboring summits, discussing, as we went, our 

80 chances on the Matterhorn. In 1867, the chief precipitation 
took place in a low, atmospheric layer, the base of the moun- 
tain being heavily laden with snow, while the summit and 
the higher rocks were bare. In 1868, the distribution was. 
inverted, the top being heavily laden and the lower rocks 

85 clear. An additional element of uncertainty was thus intro- 
duced. Maquignaz could not say what obstacles the snow 
might oppose to us above, but he was resolute and hopeful. 
My desire was to finish for ever my contest with the Matter- 
horn, by making a pass over its summit from Breuil to Zermatt. 

90 In this attempt my guide expressed his willingness to join me, 

his interest in the project being apparently equal to my own. 

He, however, only knew the Zermatt side of the mountain 

through inspection from below ; and he acknowledged that 

10 



I46 ALPINE CLIMBING. 

a dread of it had filled him the previous year. He now rea- 
95 soned, however, that as Mr. Whymper and the Taugwalds 
had managed to descend, we ought to be able to do the 
same. On the Friday we climbed to the Col de la Furka, 
examined from it the northern face of the pyramid, and dis- 
covered the men who were engaged in building the cabin on 

100 that side. We worked afterwards along the ridge which 

stretches from the Matterhorn to the Theodule, crossing its 

gullies and scaling all its heights. It was a pleasant piece 

of discipline, on new ground, to both my guide and me. 

On the Thursday evening a violent thunder-storm had 

105 burst over Breuil, discharging new snow upon the heights, 
but also clearing the oppressive air. Though the heavens 
seemed clear in the early part of Friday, clouds showed a 
disposition to meet us from the south as we returned from 
the col. I inquired of my companion whether, in the event 

110 of the day being fine, he would be ready to start on Sunday. 
His answer was a prompt negative. In Val Tournanche, he 
said, they always sanctified the Sunday! I mentioned Ben- 
nen, my pious Catholic guide, whom I permitted and 
encouraged to attend his mass on all possible occasions, 

115 but who, nevertheless, always yielded without a murmur to 
the demands of the weather. The reasoning had its effect. 
On Saturday Maquignaz saw his confessor, and arranged 
with him to. have a mass at 2 a.m. on Sunday; after which, 
unshaded by the sense of duties unperformed, he would 

120 commence the ascent. 

The claims of religion being thus met, the point of next 
importance, that of money, was set at rest by my immediate 
acceptance of the tariff published by the Chanoine Carrel. 
The problem being thus reduced to one of muscular physics, 

125 we pondered the question of provisions, decided on a bill of 
fare, and committed its execution to the industrious mistress 
of the hotel. 

A fog, impenetrable to the vision, had filled the whole 



ALPINE CLIMBING, 1 47 

of the Val Tournanche on Saturday night and the moun- 

130 tains were half concealed and half revealed by this fog 
when we rose on Sunday morning. The east at sunrise was 
lowering, and the light which streamed through the cloud 
orifices was drawn in ominous red bars across the necks of 
the mountains. It was one of those uncomfortable Laodi- 

135 cean days which engender indecision — threatening, but not 
sufficiently so to warrant postponement. Two guides and 
two porters were considered necessary for the first day's 
climb. A volunteer, moreover, attached himself to our 
party, who carried a sheepskin as part of the furniture of 

140 the cabin. To lighten their labor, the porters took a mule 
with them as far as the quadruped could climb, and after- 
wards divided the load among themselves. While they did 
so, I observed the weather. The sun had risen with con- 
siderable power, and had broken the cloud-plane to pieces. 

145 The severed clouds gathered into masses more or less 
spherical, and were rolled grandly over the ridges into 
Switzerland. Save for a swathe of fog which now and then 
wrapped its flanks, the Matterhorn itself remained clear, 
and strong hopes were raised that the progress of the 

150 weather was in the right direction. 

We halted at the base of the Tete du Lion, a bold preci- 
pice formed by the sudden cutting down of the ridge which 
flanks the Val Tournanche to the right. From its base to 
the Matterhorn stretches the Col du Lion, crossed for the 

155 first time in i860, by Mr. Hawkins, myself and our two 
guides. We were now beside a snow-gully, which was cut 
by a deep furrow along its center, and otherwise scarred 
by the descent of stones. Here each man arranged his 
bundle and himself so as to cross the gully in the minimum 

160 of time. The passage was safely made, a few 7 flying shingle 
only coming down upon us. But danger declared itself 
where it was not expected. Joseph Maquignaz led the way 
up the rocks. I was next, Pierre Maquignaz next, and last 



148 ALPINE CLIMBING. 

of all the porters. Suddenly a yell issued from the leader : 

165 ' Cachez-vous /' I crouched instinctively against the rock, 
which formed a by no means perfect shelter, when a bowl- 
der buzzed past me through the air, smote the rocks below 
me, and with a savage hum flew down to the lower glacier. 
Thus warned, we swerved to an arete, and when stones fell 

170 afterwards they plunged to the right or left of us. 

In i860 the great couloir which stretches from the Col 
du Lion downwards was filled with a neve of deep snow. 
But the atmospheric conditions which have caused the glac- 
iers of Switzerland to shrink so remarkably during the last 

175 ten years have swept away this neve. We had descended it 
in i860 hip-deep in snow, and I was now reminded of its 
steepness by the inclination of its bed. Maquignaz was 
incredulous when I pointed out to him the line of descent to 
which we had been committed, in order to avoid the falling 

180 stones of the Tete du Lion. Bennen's warnings on the 
occasion were very emphatic, and I could understand their 
wisdom now better than I did then. 

When Mr. Hawkins and myself first tried the Matterhorn, 
a temporary danger, sufficient to quell for a time the enthu- 

185 siasm even of our lion-hearted guide, was added to the per- 
manent ones. Fresh snow had fallen two days before ; it 
had quite over-sprinkled the Matterhorn, converting the 
brown of its crags into an iron-gray ; this snow had been 
melted and refrozen, forming upon the rocks an enamelling 

190 of ice. Besides their physical front, moreover, in i860, the 
rocks presented a psychological one, derived from the 
rumor of their savage inaccessibility. The crags, the ice, 
and the character of the mountain, all conspired to stir the 
feelings. Much of the wild mystery has now vanished, 

195 especially at those points which in i860 were places of vir- 
gin difficulty, but down which ropes now hang to assist the 
climber. The intrinsic grandeur of the Matterhorn, however 
cannot be effaced? 



ALPINE CLIMBING. 1 49 

After some hours of steady climbing we halted upon a 

200 platform beside the tattered remnant of one of the tents 
employed by me in 1862. Here we sunned ourselves for an 
hour. We subsequently worked upward, scaling the crags 
and rounding the bases of those wild and wonderful rock- 
towers, into which the weather of ages has hewn the southern 

205 ridge of the Matterhorn. The work required knowledge, 
but with a fair amount of skill it is safe work. I can fancy 
nothing more fascinating to a man given by nature and habit 
to such things than a climb alone, among these crags and 
precipices. He need not be theological, but, if complete, the 

210 grandeur of the place would certainly fill him with religious 
awe. 

Looked at from Breuil, the Matterhorn presents two sum- 
mits—the one, the proper summit, a square rock-tower in 
appearance; the other, which is really the end of a sharp 

215 ridge abutting against the rock-tower, an apparently conical 
peak. On this peak Bennen and myself planted our flag- 
staff in 1862. At some distance below it the mountain is 
crossed by an almost horizontal ledge, always loaded with 
snow, which, from its resemblance to a white necktie has 

220 been called the Cravate. On this ledge a cabin was put to- 
gether in 1867. It stands above the precipice where I quitted 
my rope in 1862. Up this precipice, by the aid of a thicker 
— I will not say a stronger — rope, we now scrambled, and fol- 
lowing the exact route pursued by Bennen and myself five 

225 years previously, we came to the end of the Cravate. At 
some places the snow upon the ledge fell steeply from its 
juncture with the cliff ; deep step-cutting was also needed 
where the substance had been melted and recongealed. 
The passage, however, was soon accomplished along the 

230 Cravate to the cabin, which was almost filled with snow. 

Our first need was water. We could, of course, always 
melt the snow, but this would involve a wasteful expenditure 
of heat. The cliff at the base of which the hut was built, 



150 ALPINE CLIMBING. 

overhung, and from its edge the liquified snow fell in show- 

235 ers beyond the cabin. Four ice-axes were fixed on the 
ledge, and over them was spread the residue of a second 
tent which I had left at Breuil in 1862. The water falling 
upon the canvas flowed towards its center. Here an orifice 
was made through which the liquid descended into vessels 

240 placed to receive it. Some modification of this plan might 
probably be employed with profit for the storing up of water 
for droughty years in England. 

I lay for some hours in the warm sunshine, in presence of 
the Italian mountains, watching the mutations of the air. 

245 But when the sun sank, the air became chill, and we all 
retired to the cabin. We had no fire, though warmth was 
much needed. A lover of the mountains, and of his kind, 
had contributed an India rubber mattress, on which I lay 
down, a light blanket being thrown over me, while the 

250 guides and porters were rolled up in sheepskins. The mat- 
tress was a poor defense against the cold of the subjacent 
rock. I bore this for two hours, unwilling to disturb the 
guides, but at length it became intolerable. On learning 
my condition, however, the good fellows were soon alert, 

255 and folding a sheepskin around me, restored me gradually 
to a pleasant temperature. I fell asleep, and found the 
guides preparing breakfast, and the morning well advanced, 
when I opened my eyes. 

It was past six o'clock when the two brothers and I 

260 quitted the cabin. The porters deemed their work accom- 
plished, but they halted for a time to ascertain whether we 
were likely to be driven back or to push forward. We 
skirted the Cravate, and reached the ridge at its western 
extremity. This we ascended along the old route of Ben- 

265 nen and myself to the conical peak already referred to, 
which, as seen from Breuil, constitutes a kind of second 
summit of the Matterhorn. From this point to the base of 
the final precipice of the mountain stretches an arete, terri- 



ALPINE CLIMB I XG. 1 5 I 

bly hacked by the weather but, on the whole, horizontal. 

270 When I first made the acquaintance of this savage ridge — 
called by the Italians the Spalla — it was almost clear of 
snow. It was now loaded, the snow being bevelled to an 
edge of exceeding sharpness. The slope to the left, falling 
towards Zmutt, was exceedingly steep, while the precipices 

275 on the right were abysmal. Xo other part of the Matter- 
horn do I remember with greater interest than this. It was 
terrible, but its difficulties were fairly within the grasp of 
human skill, and this association is more ennobling than 
where the circumstances are such as to make you conscious 

280 of your own helplessness. On one of the sharpest teeth of 
the ridge Joseph Maquignaz halted, and turning to me with 
a smile, remarked: " There is no room for giddiness here, 
sir." In fact such possibilities, in such places must be 
altogether excluded from the chapter of accidents of the 

285 climber. 

It was at the end of this ridge, where it abuts against the 
last precipice of the Matterhorn, that my second flag-staff 
was left in 1862. I think there must have been something 
in the light falling upon this precipice that gave it an aspect 

290 of greater verticality when I first saw it than it seemed to 
possess on the present occasion. We had, however, been 
struggling for many hours previously, and may have been 
dazed by our exertion. I cannot otherwise account for 
three of my party declining flatly to make any attempt upon 

295 the precipice. It looks very bad, but no real climber with 
his strength unimpaired would pronounce it, without trial, 
insuperable. Fears of this rock-wall, however, had been 
excited long before we reached it. It was probably the 
addition of the psychological element to the physical — the 

300 reluctance to encounter new dangers on a mountain which 
had hitherto inspired a superstitious fear — that quelled 
further exertion. 

Seven hundred feet, if the barometric measurement can be 



152 " ALPINE CLIMBING. 

trusted, of very difficult rock-work now lay above us. In 

305 1862 this height had been underestimated by both Bennen 
and myself. Of the 14,800 feet of the Matterhorn, we then 
thought we had accomplished 14,600. If the barometer 
speaks truly, we had only cleared 14,200. 

Descending the end of the riclge, we crossed a narrow 

310 cleft, and grappled with the rocks at the other side of it. 
Our ascent was oblique, bearing to the right. The obliquity 
at one place fell to horizontality, and we had to work on 
the level round a difficult protuberance of rock. We cleared 
the difficulty without haste, and then rose straight against the 

315 precipice. Above us a rope hung down the cliff, left there 
by Maquignaz on the occasion of his first ascent. We 
reached the end of this rope, and some time was lost by my 
guide in assuring himself that it was not too much frayed 
by friction. Care in testing was doubly necessary, for the 

320 rocks, bad in themselves, were here crusted with ice. The 
rope was in some places a mere hempen core surrounded by 
a casing of ice, over w 7 hich the hands slid helplessly. 
Even with the aid of the rope in this condition it required 
an effort to get to the top of the precipice, and we willingly 

325 halted there to take a minute's breath. The ascent was 

virtually accomplished, and a few minutes more of rapid 

climbing placed us on the lightning-smitten top. Thus 

ended the long contest between me and the Matterhorn. 

The clay, thus far, had swung through alternations of fog 

330 and sunshine. While we were on the ridge below, the air 
at times was blank and chill with mist ; then with rapid so- 
lution the cloud . would vanish, and open up the abysses 
right and left of us. On our attaining the summit a fog 
from Italy rolled over us, and for some minutes we were 

335 clasped by a cold and clammy atmosphere. But this passed 
rapidly away, leaving above us a blue heaven, and far below 
us the sunny meadows of Zermatt. The mountains were al- 
most w r holly unclouded, and such clouds as lingered amongst 



ALPINE CLIMBING, I 53 

them only added to their magnificence. The Dent d'firin, 

340 the Dent Blanche, the Gabelhorn, the Mischabel, the range 
of heights between it and Monto- Rosa, the Lyskamm, and 
the Breithorn were all at hand, and clear; while the Weiss- 
horn, noblest and most beautiful of all, shook out a banner 
towards the north, formed by the humid southern air as it 

345 grazed the crest of the mountain. 

The world of peaks and glaciers surrounding this imme- 
diate circlet of giants was also open to us, up to the horizon. 
Our glance over it was brief, for it was eleven o'clock, and 
the work before us soon claimed all our attention. I found 

350 the debris of my former expedition everywhere below, the 
fragments of my tents, and on the top a piece of my ladder 
fixed in the snow as a flagstaff. The summit of the Matter- 
horn is a sharp horizontal arete, and along this we now 
moved eastward. On our left was the roof-like slope of 

355 snow seen from the RifTel and Zermatt ; on our right were 
the savage, precipices which fall into Italy. Looking to the 
further end of the ridge, the snow there seemed to be trod- 
den down and I drew my companions' attention to the ap- 
parent footmarks. As we approached the place it became 

360 evident that human feet had been there two or three days 
previously. I think it was Mr. Elliot, of Brighton, who had 
made this ascent — the first accomplished from Zermatt since 
1865. On the eastern end of the ridge we halted to take a 
little food — not that I seemed to need it ; it was the remon- 

365 strance of reason rather than consciousness of physical want 
that caused me to do so. 

We took our ounce of nutriment and gulp of wine (my 
only sustenance during the entire day), and stood for a moment 
silently and earnestly looking down towards Zermatt. There 

370 was a certain official formality in the manner in which the 
guides turned to me and asked, " Etes-vous content cPes- 
sayer? " A sharp responsive " Oui" set us immediately in 
motion. It was nearly half-past eleven when we quitted the 



154 ALPINE CLIMBING. 

summit. The descent of the roof-like slope already referred 

375 to offered no difficulty ; but the gradient very soon became 
more formidable. 

One of the two faces of the Matterhorn pyramid, seen 
from Zermatt, falls towards the Zmutt glacier, and has a 
well-known snow-plateau at its base. 

380 The other face falls towards the Furgge glacier. We 
were on the former. For some time, however, we kept close 
to the arete formed by the intersection of the two faces of 
the pyramid, because nodules of rock jutted from it which 
offered a kind of footing. These rock protuberances helped 

385 us in another way; round them an extra rope which we car- 
ried was frequently doubled, and we let ourselves down by 
the rope as far as it could reach, liberating it afterwards 
(sometimes with difficulty) by a succession of jerks. In the 
choice and use of these protuberances the guides showed 

390 both judgment and skill. The rocks became gradually 
larger and more precipitous, a good deal of time being con- 
sumed in dropping down and doubling round them. Still 
we preferred them to the snow-slope at our left, as long as 
they continued practicable. 

395 This they at length ceased to be, and we had to commit 
ourselves to the slope. It was in the worst possible con- 
dition. When snow first falls at these great heights it is 
usually dry, and has no coherence. It resembles, to some 
extent, flour, or sand, or sawdust. Shone upon by a strong 

400 sun it partly melts, shrinks, and becomes more consolidated, 
and when subsequently frozen it may be safely trusted. 
Even though the melting of the snow and its subsequent 
freezing may be only very partial, the cementing of the 
granules adds immensely to the safety of the footing. 

405 Hence the advantage of descending such a slope before the 
sun has had time to unlock the rigidity of the night's frost. 
But we were on the steepest Matterhorn slope during the two 
hottest hours of the day, and the sun had done his work ef- 



ALPINE CLIMBING. 1$5 

fectually. The layer of snow was about fifteen inches thick. 

4io In treading it we came immediately upon the rock, which in 
most cases was too smooth to furnish either prop or purchase. 
It was on this slope that the Matterhorn catastrophe oc- 
curred : it is on this slope that other catastrophes will occur, 
if the mountain should ever become fashionable,, 

415 Joseph Maquignaz was the leader of our little party, and 
a brave, cool, and competent leader he proved himself to be. 
He was silent, save when he answered his brother's anxious 
and oft-repeated questions, " Es-tu Men place, Joseph ? " 
Along with being perfectly cool and brave, he seemed to be 

420 perfectly truthful. He did not pretend to be "bien place" 
when he was not, nor avow a power of holding which he 
knew he did not possess. Pierre Maquignaz is, I believe, 
under ordinary circumstances, an excellent guide, and he 
enjoys the reputation of being never tired. But in such 

425 circumstances as we encountered on the Matterhorn he is 
not the equal of his brother. Joseph, if I may use the 
term, is a man of high boiling point, his constitutional sang- 
froid resisting the ebullition of fear. Pierre, on the contrary, 
shows a strong tendency to boil over in perilous places. 

430 Our progress was exceedingly slow, but it was steady and 
continued. At every step, our leader trod the snow cau- 
tiously, seeking some rugosity on the rock beneath it. This 
however was rarely found, and in most cases he had to estab- 
lish a mechanical attachment between the snow and the 

435 slope which bore it. No semblance of a slip occurred in the 
case of any one of us, and had it occurred I do not think the 
worst consequences could have been avoided. I wish to 
stamp this slope of the Matterhorn with the character 
that really belonged to it when I descended it, and I do not 

440 hesitate to say that the giving way of any one of our party 
would have carried the whole of us to ruin. Why, then, it 
may be asked, employ the rope ? The rope, I reply, notwith- 
standing all its possible drawbacks under such circum- 



156 ALPINE CLIMBING. 

stances, is the safeguard of the climber. Not to speak of the 

445 moral effect of its presence, an amount of help upon a dan- 
gerous slope that might be measured by the gravity of a few 
pounds is often of incalculable importance ; and thus, though 
the rope may be not only useless but disastrous, if the foot- 
ing be clearly lost and the glissade fairly begun, it lessens 

450 immensely the chance of this occurrence. 

With steady perseverance, difficulties upon a mountain, 
as elsewhere, come to an end. We were finally able to pass 
from the face of the pyramid to its rugged edge, where it 
was a great relief to feel that honest strength and fair skill, 

455 which might have gone for little on the slope, were masters 
of the situation. 

Standing on the arete, at the foot of a remarkable cliff-gable 
seen from Zermatt, and permitting the vision to range over 
the Matterhorn, its appearance is exceedingly wild and im- 

460 pressive. Hardly two things can be more different than the 
two aspects of the mountain from above and below. Seen 
from the Riffel, or Zermatt, it presents itself as a compact 
pyramid, smooth and steep, and defiant of the weathering 
air. From above, it seems torn to pieces by the frosts of 

465 ages, while its vast facettes are so foreshortened as to stretch 
out into the distance like plains. But this under-estimate of 
the steepness of the mountain is checked by the deportment 
of its stones. Their discharge along the side of the pyra- 
mid to-day was incessant, and at any moment, by detaching 

470 a single bowlder, we could let loose a cataract of them, 
which flew with wild rapidity and with a thunderous clatter 
down the mountain. We once wandered too far from the 
arete, and were warned back to it by a train of these missiles 
sweeping past us. 

475 As long as our planet yields less heat to space than she 
receives from the bodies of space, so long will the 
forms upon her surface undergo mutation, and as soon as 
equilibrium, in regard to heat, has been established, we shall 



ALPINE CLIMBING. 1 57 

have, as Thomson has pointed out, not peace, but death. 

480 Life is the product and accompaniment of change, and the 
self-same power that tears the flanks of the hills to pieces is 
the mainspring of the animal and vegetable worlds. Still, 
there is something chilling in the contemplation of the irre- 
sistible and remorseless character of those infinitesimal 

485 forces, whose integration through the ages pulls down even 
the Matterhorn. Hacked and hurt by time, the aspect of 
the mountain from its higher crags saddened me. Hitherto 
the impression that it made was that of savage strength, 
but here we had inexorable decay. 

490 This notion of decay, however, implied a reference to a 
period when the Matterhorn was in the full strength of 
mountainhood. My thoughts naturally ran back to its 
possible growth and origin. Nor did they halt there, but 
wandered on through molten worlds to that nebulous haze 

495 which philosophers have regarded, and with good reason, as 
the proximate source of all material things. I tried to look 
at this universal cloud, containing within itself the predic- 
tion of all that has since occurred; I tried to imagine it as 
the seat of those forces whose action was to issue in solar 

500 and stellar systems, and all that they involve. Did that 
formless fog contain potentially the sadness with which I 
regarded the Matterhorn ? Did the thought which now ran 
back to it simply return to its primeval home? If so, had 
we not better recast our definitions of matter and. force ? 

505 For if life and thought be the very flower of both, any defi- 
nition which omits life and thought must be inadequate, if 
not untrue. 

Questions like these, useless as they seem, may still have 
a practical outcome. For if the final goal of man has not 

5io been yet attained, if his development has not been yet 
arrested, who can say that such yearnings and questionings 
are not necessary to the opening of a finer vision, to the 
budding and the growth of diviner powers ? Without this 



I58 ALPINE CLIMBING. 

upward force could man have risen to his present height ? 

515 When I look at the heavens and the earth, at my own body, 
at my strength and weakness of mind, even at these ponder- 
ings, and ask myself, Is there no being or thing in the uni- 
verse that knows more about these matters than I do ? 
— what is my answer ? Supposing our theologic schemes of 

520 creation, condemnation and redemption to be dissipated; 
and the warmth of denial which they excite, and which, as 
a motive force, can match the warmth of affirmation, dissi- 
pated at the same time ; would the undeflected human mind 
return to the meridian of absolute neutrality as regards 

525 these ultra-physical questions ? Is such a position one of 
stable equilibrium ? Such are the questions, without replies, 
which could run through consciousness during a ten min- 
utes' halt upon the weathered spire of the Matterhorn. 
We shook the rope away from us, and went rapidly down 

530 the rocks. The day was well advanced when we reached 
the cabin, and between it and the base of the pyramid we 
missed our way. It was late when we regained it, and by 
the time we reached the ridge of the Hornli, we were unable 
to distinguish rock from ice. We should have fared better 

535 than we did, if we had kept along the ridge and felt our 
way to the Schwartz See, whence there would have been no 
difficulty in reaching Zermatt, but we left the Hornli to our 
right, and found ourselves incessantly checked in the dark- 
ness by ledges and precipices, possible and actual. We 

540 were afterwards entangled in the woods of Zmutt, carving 
our way wearily through bush and bramble, and creeping at 
times along dry and precipitous stream-beds. But we 
finally struck the path and followed it to Zermatt, which we 
reached between one and two o'clock in the morning. 



ALPINE CLIMBING. I 59 

PART II. 
THE ALETSCHHORN. 

At twenty minutes past two we quitted the Bel Alp. 
The moon, which seven hours previously had cleared the 
eastern mountain-tops with a visible motion, was now slop- 
ing to the west. The light was white and brilliant, and 

5 shadows of corresponding darkness were cast upon the 
earth. The larger stars were out, those near the horizon 
especially sparkling with many-colored fires. The Pleiades 
were near the zenith, while Orion hung his sword a few 
degrees above the eastern horizon. Our path lay along the 

10 slope of the mountain, parallel to the Oberaletsch glacier, 
the lateral moraine of which was close to us on our right. 
After climbing sundry grass acclivities we mounted this 
moraine, and made it our pathway for a time. At a certain 
point the shingly ridge became depressed, opening a natural 

15 passage to the glacier. We found the ice " hummocky," 
and therefore crossed it to a medial moraine composed of 
granite debris and loaded here and there with clean granite 
blocks of enormous size. Beyond this moraine we found 
smoother ice and better light, for we had previously jour- 

20 neyed in the shadow of the mountains. 

We marched upwards along the glacier, chatting sociably 
at times, but at times stilled into silence by the stillness of 
the night. " Es Tagt ! '" at length exclaimed my companion. 
It dawns! Orion had moved upwards, leaving space 

25 between him and the horizon for the morning star. All the 
east was belted by that " daffodil sky " which, in some states 
of the atmosphere, announces the approach of day in the 
Alps. We spun towards the east. It brightened and deep- 
ened, but deeper than the orange of the spectrum it did not 

30 fall. Amid this the mountains rose. Silently and solemnly 
their dark and dented outlines rested against the dawn. 



160 ALPINE CLIMBING. 

The mass of light thus thrown over the shaded earth long 
before the sun appeared above the horizon came not from 
illuminated clouds, but from matter far more attenuated than 

35 clouds — matter which maintains comparative permanence in 
the atmosphere, while clouds are formed and dissipated. It 
is not light reflected from concentric shells of air of varying 
density, of which our atmosphere may be rightly assumed to 
be made up ; for the light reflected from these convex layers 

40 is thrown, not upon the earth at all, but into space. The 
"rose of dawn" is usually ascribed, and with sufficient cor- 
rectness, to transmitted light, the blue of the sky to reflected 
light; but in each case there is both transmission and reflec- 
tion. No doubt the daffodil and orange of the' east, this 

45 morning, must have been transmitted through long reaches 
of atmospheric air, and no doubt it was during this passage 
of the rays that the selective winnowing of the light occurred, 
which gave the sky its tint and splendor. But if the dis- 
tance of the sun below the horizon when the dawn first 

50 appeared be taken into account, it will become evident that 
the solar rays must have been caused to swerve from their 
rectilineal course by reflection, The refraction of the atmos- 
phere would be wholly incompetent to bend the rays round 
the convex earth to the extent now under contemplation. 

55 Thus the light which is reflected must be first transmitted 
to the reflecting particles, while the transmitted light, except 
in the direct line of the sun, must be reflected to reach the 
eyes. What mainly holds the light in our atmosphere after 
the sun has retired behind the. earth is, I imagine, the sus- 

60 pended matter which produces the blue of the sky, and the 
morning and the evening red. Through the reverberation 
of the rays from particle to particle, there must be at the 
very noon of night a certain amount of illumination. Twi- 
light must continue with varying degrees of intensity all 

65 night long, and the visibility of the nocturnal firmament 
itself may be due, not, as my excellent friend Dove seems 



ALPINE CLIMBING. l6l 

to assume, to the light of the stars, but in great part to the 
light of the sun, scattered in all directions through the 
atmosphere by the almost infinitely attenuated matter held 

to there in suspension. 

We had every prospect of a glorious day. To our left 
was the almost full moon, now close to the ridge of the 
Sparrenhorn. The firmament was as blue as ever I have 
seen it — deep and dark, and to all appearance pure ; that is 

75 to say, unmixed with any color of a lower grade of refrangi- 
bility than the blue. The lunar shadows had already 
become weak, and were finally washed away by the light of 
the east. But w r hile the shadows were at their greatest 
depth, and therefore least invaded by the dawn, I examined 

80 the firmament with a Xicol's prism. The moonlight, as I 
have said, came from the left, and right in front of me was 
a mountain of dark brown rock, behind which spread a 
heaven of the most impressive depth and purity. I looked 
over the mountain-crest through the prism. In one position 

85 of the instrument the blue was not sensibly affected ; in the 
rectangular position it was so far quenched as to reduce the 
sky and the dark mountain beneath it to the same uniform 
hue. The outline of the mountain could hardly be detached 
from the sky above it. This was the direction in which 

90 the prism showed its maximum quenching power; in no 

. other direction was the extinction of the light of the- sky so 
perfect. And it was at right angles to the lunar rays ; so 
that, as regards the polarization of the sky, the beams of the 
moon behave exactly like those of the sun. 

95 The glacier along which we first marched was a trunk of 
many tributaries, and consequently of many " medial mo- 
raines," such moraines being always one less in number than 
the tributaries. But two principal branches absorbed all 
the others as constituents. One of these descended from 
ioo the Great and Little Nesthorn and their spurs ; the other 
from the Aletschhorn. Up this latter branch we steered 



1 62 ALPINE CLIMBING. 

from the junction. Hitherto the surface of the glacier, dis- 
integrated by the previous day's sun, and again hardened 
by the night's frost, had crackled under our feet ; but on the 

105 Aletschhorn branch the ice was coated by a kind of fur, 
resembling the nap of velvet : it was as soft as a carpet, 
but at the same time perfectly firm to the grip of the boot. 
The sun was hidden behind the mountain ; and, thus steeped 
in shade, we could enjoy, with spirits unblunted by the heat, 

no the loveliness and grandeur of the scene. 

Right before us was the pyramid of the Aletschhorn, bear- 
ing its load of glaciers, and thrusting above them its pinnacle 
of rock ; while right and left of us towered, and fell to snowy 
cols, such other peaks as usually hang about a mountain of 

lis nearly 14,000 feet elevation. And amid them all, with a 
calmness corresponding to the deep seclusion of the place, 
wound the beautiful system of glaciers along" which we had 
been marching for nearly three hours. I know nothing which 
can compare in point of glory with these winter palaces of 

120 the mountaineer, under the opening illumination of the 
morning. And the best of it is, that no right of property in 
the scene could enhance its value. To Switzerland belongs 
the rock — to the early climber, competent to enjoy them, 
belong the sublimity and beauty of mass, form, color, and 

125 grouping. And still, the outward splendor is by no means 
all. " In the midst of a puddly moor," says Emerson, " I am 
afraid to say how glad I am:" which is a strong way of 
affirming the influence of the inner man as regards the 
enjoyment of external nature. And surely the inner man is 

130 a high factor in the effect. The magnificence of the world 
•outside suffices not. Like light falling upon the polished 
plate of the photographer, the glory of Nature, to be felt, 
must descend upon a soul prepared to receive its image and 
superscription. 

135 Mind, like force, is known to us only through matter. 
Take, then, what hypothesis you will — consider matter as an 



ALPINE CLIMBING. 1 63 

instrument through which the insulated mind exercises its 
powers, or consider both as so inextricably mixed that they 
stand or fall together; from both points of view the care of 

140 the body is equally important. The morality of clean blood 
ought to be one of the first lessons taught us by our pastors 
and masters. The physical is the substratum of the spirit- 
ual, and this fact ought to give to the food we eat and to the 
air we breathe a transcendental significance. Boldly and 

145 truly writes Mr. Ruskin, "Whenever you throw your window 
wide open in the morning, you let in Athena, as wisdom and 
fresh air at the same instant ; and whenever you draw a 
pure, long, full breath of right heaven, you take Athena into 
your heart, through your blood ; and with the blood into 

150 thoughts of the brain." No higher value than this could be 
assigned to atmospheric oxygen. 

Precisely three hours after we had quitted our hotel the 
uniform gradient of the Aletschhorn glacier came to an end. 
It now suddenly steepened to run up the mountain. At 

155 the base we halted to have some food, a huge slab of granite 
serving us for a table. It is not good to go altogether with- 
out food in these climbing expeditions ; nor is it good to eat 
copiously. Here a little, and there a little, as the need 
makes itself apparent, is the prudent course. For, left to 

ico itself, the stomach infallibly sickens, and the forces of the 
system ooze away. Should the sickness have set in so as to 
produce a recoil from nutriment, the stomach must be 
forced to yield. A small modicum of food usually suffices 
to set it right. The strongest guides and the strongest por- 

165 ters have sometimes to use this compulsion. " Sie miissen 
sich zwingen" The guides refer the capriciousness of the 
stomach, at great elevations, to the air. This may be a 
cause, but I am inclined to think that something is also due 
to the motion — the long continued action of the same mus- 

lro cles upon the diaphragm. The condition of things anteced- 
ent to the journey must also be taken into account. There 



164 ALPINE CLIMBING. 

is little, if any sleep ; the starting meal is taken at an unu- 
sual hour ; and if the start be made from a mountain cave 
or cabin, instead of from the bed of an hotel, the deviation 

175 from normal conditions is aggravated. It could not be the 
mere difference in height between Mont Blanc and Monte 
Rosa which formerly rendered their effects upon travelers 
so different. It is that, in the one case, you had the melted 
snow of the Grands Mulcts for your coffee, and a bare 

180 plank for your bed, while in the other you had the compara- 
tive comforts of the auberge on the Riff el. On the present 
occasion I had a bottle of milk, which suits me better than 
anything else. That and a crust are all I need to keep my 
vigor up and to ward off le mal des montagnes. 

185 After half an hour's halt we made ready for the peak, 
meeting first a quantity of moraine matter mingled with 
patches of snow, and afterwards the rifted glacier. We 
threaded our way among the crevasses, and here I paid 
particular attention to the deportment of my guide. The 

190 want of confidence, or rather the absence of. that experience 
of a guide's powers, on which ajone perfect reliance can be 
based, is a serious drawback to the climber. This source of 
weakness has often come home to me since the death of my 
brave friend Bennen. His loss to me was like that of an 

195 arm to a fighter. But I was glad to notice that my present 
guide was not likely to err on the score of rashness. He 
left a wider margin between us and accident than I should 
have deemed necessary; he sounded with his staff where I 
should have trod without hesitation : and, knowing my own 

200 caution, I had good reason to be satisfied with his. Still, 
notwithstanding all his vigilance, he once went into a con- 

- cealed fissure — only waist deep, however, and he could 
certainly have rescued himself without the tug of the rope 
which united us. 

205 After some time we quitted the ice, striking a rocky 
shoulder of the mountain. The rock had been pulled to 



ALPINE CLIMBING. 1 65 

pieces by the weather, and its fragments heaped together to 
an incoherent ridge. Over the lichened stones we worked 
our way, our course, though rough, being entirely free from 

210 danger. On this ridge the sun first found us, striking us at 
intervals, and at intervals disappearing behind the sloping 
ridge of the Aletschhorn. We attained the summit of the 
rocks, and had now the upper reaches of the neve before 
us. To our left the glacier was greatly torn, exposing fine 

215 vertical sections, deep blue pits and chasms which were 
bottomless to vision ; and ledges, from whose copings hung 
vaster stalactites than those observed below. The beauty 
of the higher crevasses is mightily enhanced by the long 
transparent icicles which hang from their eaves, and which, 

220 loosened by the sun, fall into them with ringing sound. 
Above us was the customary bergs chrund ; but the spring 
avalanches had swept over it, and closed it, and since the 
spring it had not been able to open its jaws. At this 
schrund we aimed, reached it, and crossed it, and immediately 

225 found ourselves at the base of: the final cap of: the moun- 
tain. 

Looking at the Aletschhorn from the Sparrenhorn, or 
from any other point which commands a similar view of the 
pyramid, we see upon the ridge which falls from the sum- 

230 mit to the right, and at a considerable distance from the 
top, a tooth or pinnacle of rock, which encloses with the 
ridge a deep indentation. At this gap we now aimed. We 
varied our ascent from steep snow to rock, and from steep 
rock to snow, avoiding the difficulties when possible, and 

235 facing them when necessary. We met some awkward 
places, but none whose subjugation was otherwise than 
pleasant, and at length surmounted the edge of the arete. 
Looking over this, the facette of the pyramid fell almost 
sheer to the middle Aletsch glacier. This was a familiar 

240 sight to me, for, years ago, I had strolled over it alone. 
Below it was the Great Aletsch, into which the middle 



1 66 ALPINE CLIMBING. 

Aletsch flows, and beyond both was the well-known ridge 
of the Aeggischhorn. We halted, but only for a moment. 
Turning suddenly to the left, we ascended the rocky ridge 

245 to a sheltered nook which suggested a brief rest and a 
slight renewal of that nutriment which, as stated, is so 
necessary to the well-being of the climber. 

From time to time as we ascended I examined the 
polarization of the sky. I should not have halted had not 

250 the fear of haze or clouds upon the summit admonished me. 
Indeed, as we ascended, one thin arrowy cloud shot like a 
comet's tail through the air above us, spanning ninety degrees 
or more of the heavens. Never, however, have I observed 
the sky of a deeper, darker and purer blue. It was to 

255 examine this color that Iascended the Aletschhorn, and I 
wished to observe it where the hue was deepest and the 
polarization most complete. You can look through very 
different atmospheric thicknesses at right angles to the 
solar beams. When for example, the sun is in the eastern or 

260 western horizon, you can look across the sun's, rays 
towards the northern or southern horizon, or you can look 
across them to the zenith. In the latter direction the blue 
is deeper and purer than in either of the former, the pro- 
portion of the polarized light of the sky to its total light 

265 being also a maximum. 

The sun, however, when I was on the Aletschhorn, was not 
in the horizon, but high above it. I placed my staff upright 
on a platform of snow. It cast a shadow. Inclining the 
staff from the sun, the shadow lengthened for a time, reached 

2ro its major limit, and then shortened. The simplest geo- 
metrical consideration will show that the staff when its 
shadow was longest was perpendicular to the solar rays; the 
atmosphere in this direction was shallower and the sky bluer 
than in any other direction perpendicular to the same rays. 

275 Along this line I therefore looked through the Nicol. The 
light, I found, could be quenched so as to leave a residue as 



ALPINE CLIMBING. \6j 

dark as the firmament upon a moonless night; but still 
there was a residue — the polarization was not complete. 
Nor was the color, however pure its appearance, by any 

280 means a monochromatic blue. A disc of selenite, gradually 
thickening from the center to the circumference, when 
placed between the Nicol and the sky yielded vivid iris 
colors. The blue was very marked : but there was vivid 
purple, which requires an admixture of red to produce it. 

285 There was also a bright green, and some yellow. In fact, 
however purely blue the sky might seem, it sent to the eye 
all the colors of the spectrum : it owed its color to the 
predominance of blue,, that is to say, to the enfeeblement? 
and not to the extinction, of the other colors of the spec- 

290 trum. The green was particularly vivid in the portion of 
the sky nearest to the mountains, where the light was 
" daffodil/' 

A pocket spectroscope confirmed these results. Permit- 
ting the light of an illuminated cloud to enter the slit of the 

295 instrument, a vivid spectrum was observed; but on passing 
beyond the rim of the cloud to the adjacent firmament, a 
sudden fall in the intensity of all the less refrangible rays of 
the spectrum was observed. There was an absolute short- 
ening of the spectrum in the direction of the red, through 

300 the total extinction of the extreme red. The fall in lumi- 
nousness was also very striking as far as the green ; the 
blue also suffered, but not so much as the other colors. 

The scene as we ascended grew more and more superb, 
both as regards grouping and expansion. Viewed from the 

305 Bel Alp the many-peaked Dom is a most imposing moun- 
tain ; it has there no competitor. The mass of the Weiss- 
horn is hidden, its summit alone appearing. The Matter- 
horn, also, besides being more distant, has a portion of its 
pyramid cut obliquely away by the slope of the same ridge 

31© that intercepts the Weisshorn, and which is seen to our 
right when we face the valley of the Rhone, falling steeply 



1 68 ALPINE CLIMBING. 

to the promontory called the Nessel. Viewed from this 
promontory, the Dom finds its match, and more than its 
match, in its mighty neighbor, whose hugeness is here dis- 

315 played from top to bottom. On the lower reaches of the 
Aletschhorn also, the Dom maintains its superiority, the 
Weisshorn being for a time wholly unseen, and the Matterhorn 
but imperfectly. As we rise, however, the Dom steadily loses 
its individuality, until from the ridge of the Aletschhorn it 

320 is jumbled to a single leviathan heap with the mass of 
Monte .Rosa. The Weisshorn, meanwhile, as steadily gains 
in grandeur, rising like a mountain Saul amid the congre- 
gated hills, until from the arete it distances all competitors. 
In comparison with this kingly peak, the Matterhorn looks 

325 small and mean. It has neither the mass nor the form 
which would enable it to compete, from a distant point of 
view, with the Weisshorn. 

The ridge of the Aletschhorn is of schistose gneiss, in 
many places smooth, in all places steep, and sometimes 

330 demanding skill and strength on the part of the climber. 
I thought we could scale it with greater ease if untied, so I 
flung the rope away from me. My guide was in front, and 
I carefully watched his action among the rocks. For some 
time there was nothing to cause anxiety for his safety. 

335 There was no likelihood of a slip, and if a slip occurred 
there was opportunity for recovery. But after a time this 
ceased to be the case. The rock had been scaled away by 
weathering, parallel to the planes of foliation, the surfaces 
left behind being excessively smooth, and in many cases 

340 flanked by slopes and couloirs of perilous steepness. I saw 
that a slip might occur here, and that its consequences 
would be serious. The rope was therefore resumed. 

A fair amount of skill and an absence of all precipitancy 
rendered our progress perfectly secure. In every place of 

345 danger one of us planted himself as securely as the rock 
on which he stood, and remained thus fixed until the dan- 



ALPINE CLIMBING. 1 69 

ger was passed by the other. Both of us were never 
exposed to peril at the same moment. The bestowal of a 
little extra time renders this arrangement possible along the 

350 entire ridge of the Aletschhorn ; in fact, the dangers of the 
Alps can be almost reduced to the level of the dangers of 
the street by the exercise of skill and caution. For rash- 
ness, ignorance, or carelessness, the mountains leave no mar- 
gin ; and to rashness, ignorance, or carelessness, three. 

355 fourths of the catastrophes which shock us are to be traced. 
Even those whose faculties are ever awake in danger are 
sometimes caught napping when danger seems remote ; 
they receive accordingly the punishment of a tyro for a 
tyro's neglect. 

360 While ascending the lower glacier we found the air in 
general crisp and cool ; but we were visited at intervals 
by gusts of F'dhn — warm breathings of the unexplained 
Alpine sirocco, which passed over our cheeks like puffs 
from a gently heated stove. On the arete we encountered 

365 no F'dhn; but the rocks were so hot as to render contact 
with them painful. I left my coat among them, and went 
upward in my shirt-sleeves. At our last bivouac my guide 
had allowed two hours for the remaining ascent. We 
accomplished it in one, and I was surprised by the shout 

370 which announced the passage of the last difficulty, and the 
proximity of the top of the mountain. This we reached 
precisely eight hours after starting — an ascent of fair rapid- 
ity, and without a single mishap from beginning to end. 
Rock, weathered to fragments, constitutes the crown of 

375 the Aletschhorn; but against this and above it is heaped a 
buttress of snow, which tapers, as seen from the Aeggisch- 
horn, to a pinnacle of surpassing beauty. This snow was 
firm, and we readily attained its highest point. Over this I 
leaned for ten minutes, looking along the face of the pyra- 

380 mid, which fell for thousands of feet to the neves at its base. 
We looked down upon the Jungfrau, and upon every other 



170 ALPINE CLIMBING. 

peak for miles around us, one only excepted. The excep- 
tion was the Finsteraarhorn, the highest of the Oberland 
mountains, after which comes the Aletschhorn. I could 

385 clearly track the course pursued by Ben n en and myself 
eleven years previously, — the, spurs of rock and slopes of 
snow, the sleep and weathered crest of the mountain, and 
the line of our swift glissade as we returned. 

Round about the dominant peak of the Oberland was 

390 grouped a crowd of other peaks, retreating eastward to 
Graubiinden and the distant Engadin, retreating southward 
over Italy, and blending ultimately with the atmosphere. 
At hand were the Jungfrau, Monch, and Eiger. A little 
further off the Blumlis Alp, the Weisse Frau, and the Great 

395 and Little Nesthorn. In the distance the grim precipices 
of Mont Blanc, rising darkly from the Allee Blanche, and 
lifting to the firmament the snow-crown of the mountain. 
The Combin and its neighbors were distinct ; and then came 
that trinity of grandeur, with which the reader is so well 

400 acquainted — the Weisshorn, the Matterhorn, and the Dom 
— supported by the Alpbubel, the Allaleinhorn, the Rymp- 
fischhorn, the Strahlhorn, and the mighty Monte Rosa. 
From no other point of the Alps have I had a greater com- 
mand of their magnificence— perhaps from none so great ; 

405 while the blessedness of perfect health, on this perfect day, 
rounded off within me the external splendor. The sun 
seemed to take a pleasure in bringing out the glory of the 
hills. The intermixture of light and shade was astonishing; 
while to the whole scene a mystic air was imparted by 

410 a belt of haze, in which the furthest outlines disappeared, as 
if infinite distance had rendered them impalpable. 

Two concentric shells of atmosphere, perfectly distinct 
in character, clasped the earth this morning. That which 
hugged the surface was of a deep neutral tint, too 

415 shallow to reach more than midway up the loftier moun- 
tains. Upon this, as upon an ocean, rested the luminous 



ALPINE CLIMBING. 



171 



higher atmospheric layer, both being separated along the 
horizon by a perfectly definite line. This higher region was 
without a cloud ; the arrowy streamer that had shot across 

420 the firmament during our ascent, first reduced to feathery 
streaks, had long since melted utterly away. Blue was 
supreme above, while all round the horizon the intrinsic 
brilliance of the upper air was enhanced by contrast with the 
dusky ground on which it rested. But this gloomier portion 

425 of the atmosphere was also transparent. It was not a cloud- 
strata cutting off the view of things below it, but an attenu- 
ated mist, through which were seen, as through a glass 
darkly, the lower mountains, and out of which the higher 
peaks and ridges sprung into sudden glory. 

430 Our descent was conducted with the same care and suc- 
cess that attended our ascent. I have already stated it to be 
a new thing for one man to lead a traveler up the mountain, 
and my guide in ascending had informed me that his wife 
had been in a state of great anxiety about him. But until 
-435 he had cleared all dangers he did not let me know the 
extent of her devotion, nor the means she had adopted to 
ensure his safety. When we were once more upon the lower 
glacier, having left all difficulties behind us, he remarked 
with a chuckle that she had been in a terrible state of fear, 

440 and had informed him of her intention to have a mass for 
his safety celebrated by the village priest. But if he prof- 
ited by this mediation, I must have done so equally; for in 
all dangerous places we were tied together by a rope which 
was far too strong to break had I slipped. My safety was, 

445 in fact, bound up in his, and I therefore thought it right to 
pay my share of the expense. " How much did the mass 
cost?" I asked. "Oh not much, sir," he replied, " only 
ninety centimes." Not deeming the expense worth dividing, 
I let him pay for such advantage as I had derived from the 

450 priest's intercession. 



172 ALPINE CLIMBING, 



PART III. 
THE GLISSADE. 

While staying in Pontresinain 1864 I joined Mr. Hutchin- 
son, and Mr. Lee Warner, of Rugby, in a memorable expedi- 
tion up the Piz Morteratsch. This is a very noble mountain 
and, as we thought, safe and easy to ascend. The resolute 

5 Jenni, by far the boldest man in Pontresina, was my guide ; 
while Walter, the official guide chef, was taken by my compan- 
ions. With a dubious sky overhead we started on the morning 
of July 30, a little after four a.m. There is rarely much talk 
at the beginning of a mountain excursion : you are either 

10 sleepy or solemn so early in the clay. Silently we passed 
through the pine woods of the beautiful Rosegg valley, 
watching anxiously, at intervals, the play of the clouds 
around the adjacent heights. At one place a spring gushed 
from the valley-bottom, as clear and almost as copious as 

15 that which pours out the full-formed river Albula. The 
traces of ancient glaciers were present everywhere, the 
valley being thickly covered with the rubbish which the 
ice had left behind. An ancient moraine, so large that, in 
England, it might take rank as a mountain, forms a 

20 barrier across the upper valley. Once, probably, it was the 
dam of a lake, but now it is cut through by the river which 
rushes from the Rosegg glacier. These works of the an- 
cient ice are to the mind what a distant horizon is to 
the eye. They give to the imagination both pleasure and 

25 repose. 

The morning as I have said, looked threatening, but the 
wind was good ; by degrees the cloud-scowl relaxed, and 
broader patches of blue became visible above us. We 
called at the Rosegg chalets, and had some milk. We after- 

30 wards wound round a shoulder of the hill, at times upon the 
moraine of the glacier, and at times upon the adjacent 



ALPINE CLIMBING. 1 73 

grass slope ; then over shingly inclines, covered with the 
shot rubbish of the heights. Two ways were now open 
to us, the one easy but circuitous, the other stiff but short. 

35 Walter was for the former, and Jenni for the latter, their 
respective choices being characteristic of the two men. To 
my satisfaction Jenni prevailed, and we scaled the steep 
and slippery rocks. At the top of them we found ourselves 
upon the rim of an extended snow-field. Our rope was here 

40 exhibited, and we were bound by it to a common destiny. 
In those higher regions the snow-fields show a beauty and a 
purity of which persons who linger low down have no notion. 
We crossed crevasses and bergschninds, mounted vast snow- 
basses, and doubled round walls of ice with long stalactites 

45 pendent from their eaves. One by one the eminences were 
surmounted. The crowning rock was attained at half-past 
twelve. On it we uncorked a bottle of champagne ; mixed 
with the pure snow of the mountain, it formed a beverage, 
and was enjoyed with a gusto, which the sybarite of the 

50 city could neither imitate nor share. 

We spent about an hour upon the warm gneiss-blocks on 
the top. Veils of clouds screened us at intervals from the 
sun, and then we felt the keenness of the air ; but in general 
we were cheered and comforted by the solar light and 

55 warmth. The shiftings of the atmosphere were wonderful. 
The white peaks were draped with opalescent clouds which 
never lingered for two consecutive minutes in the same 
position. Clouds differ widely from each other in point of 
beauty, but I had hardly seen them more beautiful than they 

go appeared'to-day, while the succession of surprises experienced 
through their changes were such as rarely fall to the lot 
even of an experienced mountaineer. 

These clouds for the most part are produced by the chilling 
of the air through its own expansion. When thus chilled, 

05 the aqueous vapor diffused through it, which is previously 
unseen, is precipitated in visible particles. Every particle 



174 ' ALPINE CLIMBING. 

of the cloud has consumed in its formation a little polyhed- 
ron of vapor, and a moment's reflection will make it clear 
that the size of the cloud-particles must depend, not only on 

70 the size of-the vapor polyhedron, but on the relation of the 
density of the vapor to that of its liquid. If the vapor were 
light and the liquid heavy, other things being equal, the 
cloud- particle would be smaller than if the vapor were heavy 
and the liquid light. There evidently would be more 

75 shrinkage in the one case than in the other. Now there are 
various liquids whose weight is not greater than that of 
water, while the weight of their vapors, bulk for bulk, is five 
or six times that of aqueous vapor. When those heavy vapors 
are precipitated as clouds, which is easily done artificially, 

80 their particles are found to be far coarser than those of an 
aqueous cloud. Indeed water is without a parallel in this 
particular. Its vapor is the lightest of all vapors, and to this 
fact the soft and tender beauty of the clouds of our atmos- 
phere is mainly due. 

85 After an hour's halt upon the summit the descent began. 
Jenni is the most daring man and powerful character among 
the guides of Pontresina. The manner in which he bears 
down all the others in conversation, and imposes his own will 
upon them, shows that he is the dictator of the place. He 

90 is a large and rather an ugly man, and his progress up hill 
through resistless, is slow. He had repeatedly expressed a 
wish to make an excursion with me, and on this occasion he 
may have desired to show us what he could do upon the 
mountains. He accomplished two daring things — the one 

95 successfully, while the other was within a haif's-breadth of 

• a very shocking issue. 

In descending we went straight down upon a bergschrund, 

which had compelled us to make a circuit in coming up. 

This particular kind of fissure is formed by the lower portion 

loo of a snow-slope, falling away from the upper, a crevasse 

being thus formed between both, which often surrounds the 



ALPINE CLIMBING. 1 75 

mountain as a fosse of terrible depth. Walter was the first 
of our party, and Jenni was the last. It was quite evident 
that the leader hesitated to cross the chasm ; but Jenni came 

105 forward and, half by expostulation, half by command, caused 
him to sit down on the snow at some height above the 
fissure. I think, moreover, he helped him with a shove. 
At all events, the slope was so steep that the guide shot 
down it with an impetus sufficient to carry him clear over 

110 the schrund. We all afterwards shot the chasm in this pleas- 
ant way. Jenni was behind. Deviating from our track, he 
deliberately chose the widest part of the chasm, and shot 
over it, lumbering like behemoth down the snow-slope at 
the other side. It was an illustration of that practical know- 

115 ledge which long residence among the mountains can alone 
impart, and in possession of which our best English climbers 
fall far behind their guides. 

The remaining steep slopes were also descended by glis- 
sade, and we afterwards marched cheerily over the gentler 

120 inclines. We had ascended by the Rosegg glacier, and 
now we wished to descend upon the Morteratsch glacier 
and make it our highway home. 

We reached the point when it was necessary to quit our 
morning's track, and immediately afterwards got upon some 

125 steep rocks, rendered slippery here and there by the 
water which had trickled over them. To our right was a 
broad couloir, filled with snow, which had been melted and 
refrozen, so as to expose a steeply sloping wall of ice. We 
were tied together in the following order : Jenni led, I came 

130 next, then Mr. Hutchinson, a practised mountaineer, then 
Mr. Lee-Warner, and last of all the guide Walter. Lee- 
Warner had had but little experience of the higher Alps, and 
he was placed in front of Walter, so that any false step on 
his part might be instantly checked. 

135 After descending the rocks for a time, Jenni turned and 
asked me whether I thought them or the ice-slope the 



1?6 ALPINE CLIMBING. 

better track. I pronounced without hesitation in favor of 
the rocks, but he seemed to misunderstand me, and turned 
towards the couloir. I stopped him at the edge of it, and 

140 said, " Jenni, you know where you are going : the slope is 
pure ice." He replied, " I know it; but the ice is quite bare 
for a few yards only. Across this exposed portion I will cut 
steps, and then the snow which covers the ice will give us a 
footing." He cut the steps, reached the snow and descended 

145 carefully along it, all following him, apparently in good 
order. After some time he stopped, turned, and looked 
upwards at the last three men. " Keep carefully in the 
steps, gentlemen," he said ; " a false step here might detach 
an avalanche." The word. was scarcely uttered when I 

150 heard the sound of a fall behind me, then a rush, and in a 
moment my two friends and their guide, all apparently 
entangled together, whirred past me. I suddenly planted 
myself to resist their shock, but in an instant I was in their 
wake, for their impetus was irresistible. A moment after- 

155 wards Jenni was whirled away, and' thus, in the twinkling of 
an eye, all five of us found ourselves riding downwards 
with uncontrollable speed on the back of an avalanche which 
a single step had originated. 

Previous to stepping on the slope, I had, according to 

160 habit, made clear to my mind what was to be done in case 
of mishap; and accordingly, when overthrown, I turned 
promptly on my face and drove my baton through the 
moving snow, and into the ice underneath. No time how- 
ever was allowed for the break's action ; for I had held it 

165 firmly thus for a few seconds only, when I came into collis- 
ion with some obstacle and was rudely tossed through the 
air, Jenni being at the same time shot clown upon me. Both 
of us here lost our batons. We had been carried over a 
crevasse, had hit its lower ledge, and, instead of dropping 

170 into it, were pitched by our great velocity far beyond it. 
I was quite bewildered for a moment, but immediately 



ALPINE CLIMBING. \JJ 

righted myself, and could see the men in front of me half 
buried in the snow, and jolted from side to side by the ruts 
among which we were passing. Suddenly I saw them 

175 tumbled over by a lurch of the avalanche, and immediately 
afterwards found myself imitating their motion. This was 
caused by a second crevasse. Jenni knew of its existence 
and plunged, he told me, right into it — a brave act, but for the 
time unavailing. By jumping into the chasm he thought a 

180 strain might be put upon the rope sufficient to check the 
motion. But though over thirteen stone in weight, he 
was violently jerked out of the fissure and almost squeezed 
to death by the pressure of the rope. 

A long slope was below us, which led directly downwards 

185 to a brow where the glacier fell precipitously. At the base 
of the declivity the ice was cut by a series of profound 
chasms, toward which we were rapidly borne. The three 
foremost men rode up the forehead of the avalanche, and were 
at times almost wholly immersed in the snow ; but the 

190 moving layer was thinner behind, and Jenni rose incessantly 
and with desperate energy drove his feet into the firmer 
substance underneath. His voice shouting "Halt ! halt !" was 
the only one heard during the descent. A kind of condensed 
memory, such as that described by people who have narrowly 

195 escaped drowning, took possession of me, and my power 
of reasoning remained intact. I thought of Bennen on the 
Haut de Cry, and muttered, " It is now my turn." Then I 
coolly scanned the men in front of me, and reflected that, 
if their vis viva was the only thing to be neutralized-, Jenni 

200 and myself could stop them ; but to arrest both them and 
the mass of snow in which they were caught was hopeless. 
I experienced no intolerable dread. In fact, the start was 
too sudden and the excitement 'of the rush too great to 
permit of the development of terror. 

205 Looking in advance, I noticed that the slope, for a short 
distance became less steep, and then fell as before. " Now or 

12 



178 ALPINE CLIMBING. 

never we must be brought to rest." The speed visibly 
slackened, and I thought we were saved. But the momen- 
tum had been too great ; the avalanche crossed the brow 

210 and in part regained its motion. Here Hutchinson threw 
his arm around his friend, all hope being extinguished, 
while I grasped my belt and struggled to free myself. 
Finding this difficult, from the tossing, I sullenly resumed 
the strain upon the rope. Destiny had so related the 

215 downward impetus to Jenni's pull as to give the latter a 
slight advantage, and the whole question was whether the 
opposing force would have sufficient time to act. This was 
also arranged in our favor, for we came to rest so near the 
brow that two or three seconds of our average motion of 

220 descent must have carried us over. Had this occurred, we 
should have fallen into the chasms, and been covered up by 
the tail of the avalanche. Hutchinson emerged from the 
snow with his forehead bleeding, but the wound was superfi- 
cial; Jenni had a bit of flesh removed from his hand by 

225 collision against a stone ; the pressure of the rope had left 
black welts on my arms ; and we all experienced a tingling 
sensation over the hands, like that produced by incipient 
frost-bite, which continued for several days. This was all. 
I found a portion of my watch-chain hanging around my 

230 neck, another portion in my pocket ; the watch was gone. 

This happened on the 30th of July. Two days afterwards 

1 went to Italy, and remained there for ten or twelve days. 

On the 16th of August, being again at Pontresina, I made on 

that day an expedition in search of the lost watch. Both 

235 the guides and myself thought the sun's heat might melt the 
snow above it, and I inferred that if its back should happen 
to be uppermost the slight absorbent power of gold for the 
solar rays would prevent the watch from sinking as a stone 
sinks under like circumstances. The watch would thus be 

240 brought quite to the surface ; and, although a small object, 
it might possibly be seen from some distance. Five friends 



ALPINE CLIMBING. 1 79 

accompanied me up the Morteratsch glacier. One of them 
was the late Mr. North, member for Hastings, a most 
lovable man. He was then sixty-four years of age, but he 

245 exhibited a courage and collectedness, and indeed a delight, 
in the wild savagery of the crevasses which were perfectly 
admirable. 

Two only of the party, both competent mountaineers, 
accompanied me to the track of our glissade, but none of 

250 us ventured on the ice where it originated. Just before 
stepping upon the snow, a stone some tons in weight, 
detached by the sun from the heights above us, came rush- 
ing down the line of our descent. Its leaps became more 
and more impetuous, and on reaching the brow near which 

255 we had been brought to rest, it bounded through the air, 
and with a single spring reached the lower glacier, raising a 
cloud of ice dust. Some fragments of rope found upon the 
snow assured us that we were upon the exact track of the 
avalanche, and then the search commenced. . It had not 

260 continued twenty minutes when a cheer from one of the 
guides, — Christian Michel, of Grindelwald — announced the 
discovery of the watch. It had been brought to the surface 
in the manner surmised, and on examination seemed to be 
dry and uninjured. I noticed, moreover, that the position of 

265 the hands indicated that it had only run clown beneath the 
snow. I wound it up, hardly hoping, however, to find it 
capable of responding. But it showed instant signs of 
animation. It had remained eighteen days in the avalanche, 
but the application of its key at once restored it to action, 

270 and it has gone with unvarying regularity ever since. 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL 

IN FOUR STAVES. 

BY 

CHARLES DICKENS. 
STAVE ONE. — MARLEY's GHOST. 

Marley was dead, to begin with. There was no doubt 
whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed 
by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief 
mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge's name was 
5 good upon 'Change for anything he chose to put his 
hand to. 

Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail. 
Scrooge knew he was dead ? Of course he did. How 
could it be otherwise ? Scrooge and he were partners for I 
10 don't know how many years. Scrooge was his sole executor, 
his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary leg- 
atee, his sole friend, his sole mourner. 

Scrooge never painted out old Marley's name however. 
There it yet stood, years afterwards, above the warehouse 
15 door — Scrooge and Marley. The firm was known as Scrooge 
and Marley. Sometimes people new to the business called 
Scrooge Scrooge, and sometimes Marley. He answered to 
both names. It was all the same to him. 

O ! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, was 
20 Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutch- 
ing, covetous old sinner ! External heat and cold had little 
influence on him. No warmth could warm, no cold could 
chill him No wind that blew was bitterer than he, no 
falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting 
25 rain less open to entreaty. Foul weather didn't know where 
to have him. The heaviest rain and snow and hail and slee.t 

180 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. l8l 

could boast of the advantage over him in only one respect — 
they often " came down " handsomely, and Scrooge never 
did. 

30 Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with glad- 
some looks, " My clear Scrooge, how are you ? When will 
you come to see me ? " No beggars implored him to bestow a 
trifle, no children asked him what it was o'clock, no man or 
woman ever once in all his life inquired the way to such and 

35 such a place, of Scrooge. Even the blindmen's dogs ap- 
peared to know him; and when they saw him coming on, 
would tug their owners into doorways and up courts; and 
then would wag their tails as though they said, " No eye at 
all is better than an evil eye, dark master! " 

40 But what did Scrooge care? It was the very thing he 
liked. To edge his way along the crowded paths of life, 
warning all human sympathy to keep its distance, was what 
the knowing ones call " nuts " to Scrooge. 

Once upon a time — of all the good clays in the year, upon 

45 a Christmas Eve — old Scrooge sat busy in his counting- 
house. It was cold, bleak, biting, foggy weather ; and the 
city clocks had only just gone three, but it was quite dark 
already. 

The door of Scrooge's counting-house was open, that he 

50 mights keep his eye upon his clerk, who, in a dismal little 
cell beyond, a sort of tank, was copying letters. Scrooge 
had a very small fire, but the clerk's fire was so very much 
smaller that it looked like one coal. But he couldn't replen- 
ish it, for Scrooge kept the coal-box in his own room; and 

55 so surely as the clerk came in with the shovel, the master 
predicted that it would be necessary for them to part Where- 
fore the clerk put on his white comforter, and tried to warm 
himself at the candle, in which effort, not being a man of 
a strong imagination, he failed. 

60 "A merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!" cried a 
cheerful voice. It was the voice of Scrooge's nephew, who 



1 82 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

came upon him so quickly that this was the first intimation 
Scrooge had of his approach. 

" Bah ! " said Scrooge ; " humbug ! " 

65 " Christmas a humbug, uncle ! You don't mean that, I am 
sure ! " 

" I do. Out upon merry Christinas ! What's Christmas 
time to you but a time for paying bills without money ; 
a time for finding yourself a year older, and not an hour 

70 richer ; a time for balancing your books and having every item 
in 'em through a round dozen of months presented dead 
against you ? If I had my will, every idiot who goes about 
with * Merry Christmas' on his lips should be boiled with his 
own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his 

75 heart. He should ! " 
" Uncle ! " 

" Nephew, keep Christmas in your own way, and let me 
keep it in mine." 

" Keep it ! But you don't keep it." 

80 " Let me leave it alone, then. Much good may it do 
you ! Much good it has ever done you ! " 

"There are many things from which I might have derived 
good, by which I have not profited, I dare say, Christmas 
among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of 

85 Christmas time, when it has come round, — apart from the 
veneration due to its sacred origin, if anything belonging to 
it can be apart from that, — as a good time ; a kind, forgiv- 
ing, charitable, pleasant time ; the only time I know of, in 
the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem 

90 by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to 
think of people below them as if they really were fellow-trav- 
elers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound 
on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has 
never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe 

95 that it has done me good, and will do me good ; and I say, 
God bless it ! " 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 1 83 

The clerk in the tank involuntarily applauded. 
" Let me hear another sound from you" said Scrooge, 
" and you'll keep your Christmas by losing your situation ! 
100 You're quite a powerful speaker, sir," he added, turning to 
his nephew. "I wonder you don't go into Parliament." 
" Don't be angry, uncle. Come ! Dine with us to-morrow." 
Scrooge said that he would see him — yes, indeed he did. 
He went the whole length of the expression, and said that 
105 he would see him in that extremity first. 

" But why ? " cried Scrooge's nephew. " Why ? " 
" Why did you get married ? " 
" Because I fell in love." 

"Because you fell in love !" growled Scrooge, as if that 
110 were the only one thing in the world more ridiculous than 
a merry Christmas. " Good afternoon ! " 

"Nay, uncle, but you never came to see me before that 
happened. Why give it as a reason for not coming now ? " 
" Good afternoon. " 
115 "I want nothing from you ; I ask nothing of you; why 
cannot we be friends ? " 
"Good afternoon." 

"I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute. 
We have never had any quarrel, to which I have been a 
120 party. But I have made the trial in homage to Christmas, 
and I'll keep my Christmas humor to the last. So, A Merry 
Christmas, uncle ! " 
" Good afternoon ! " 
" And, A Happy New Year ! " 
125 " Good afternoon ! " 

His nephew left the room without an angry word, notwith- 
standing. The clerk, in letting Scrooge's nephew out, had let 
two other people in. They were portly gentlemen, pleasant 
to behold, and now stood, with their hats off, in Scrooge's 
130 office. They had books and papers in their hands, and 
bowed to him, 



1 84 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

"Scrooge and Marley's, I believe," said one of the gentle- 
men, referring to his list. " Have I the pleasure of address- 
ing Mr. Scrooge, or Mr. Marley ? " 
135 " Mr. Marley has been dead these seven years. He died 
seven years ago, this very night/' 

"At this festive season of the year, Mr. Scrooge," said the 
gentleman, taking up a pen, " it is more than usually desira- 
ble that we should make some slight provision for the poor 
140 and destitute, who suffer greatly at the present time. Many 
thousands are in want of common necessaries ; hundreds of 
thousands are in want of common comforts, sir." 
" Are there no prisons ? " 

"Plenty of prisons. But under the impression that they 
145 scarcely furnish Christian cheer of mind or body to the un- 
offending multitude, a few of us are endeavoring to raise a 
fund to buy the poor some meat, and drink, and means of 
warmth. We choose this time, because it is a time, of all 
others, when Want is keenly felt, and Abundance rejoices. 
150 What shall I put you down for ? " 
" Nothing ! " 

" You wish to be anonymous ? " 

" I wish to be left alone. Since you ask me what I wish, 
gentlemen, that is my answer. I don't make merry myself 
155 at Christmas, and I can't afford to make idle people -merry. 
I help to support the prisons and the workhouses, — they 
cost enough, — and those who are badly off must go there." 
" Many can't go there ; and many would rather die." 
" If they would rather die, they had better do it, and de- 
160 crease the surplus population." 

At length the hour for shutting up the counting-house ar- 
rived. With an ill will Scrooge, dismounting from his stool, 
tacitly admitted the fact to the expectant clerk in the tank, 
who instantly snuffed his candle out, and put on his hat. 
165 " You'll want all day to-morrow, I suppose ?" 
" If quite convenient, sir." 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 1 85 

" It's not convenient, and it's not fair. If I was to stop 
half a crown for it, you'd think yourself mightily ill used, I'll 
be bound ? " 
170 " Yes, sir." 

" And yet you don't think me ill used, when I pay a day's 
wages for no work." 
* " It's only once a year, sir." 

" A poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every twenty- 
175 fifth of December ! But I suppose you must have the whole 
day. Be here all the earlier next morning." 

The clerk promised that he would ; and Scrooge walked 
out with a growl. The office was closed in a twinkling, and 
the clerk, with the long ends of his white comforter dangling 
180 below his waist (for he boasted no great-coat), went clown a 
slide, at the end of a lane *of boys, twenty times in honor of 
its being Christmas Eve, and then ran home as hard as he 
• could pelt, to play at blindman's-buff. 

Scrooge took his melancholy dinner in his usual melan- 
185 choly tavern ; and, having read all the newspapers, and be- 
guiled the rest of the evening with his banker's book, went 
home to bed. He lived in chambers which had once be- 
longed to his deceased partner. They were a gloomy suite 
of rooms, in a lowering pile of a building up a yard. The 
190 building was old enough now, and dreary enough ; for no- 
body lived in it but Scrooge, the other rooms being let out 
as offices. 

Now it is a fact, that there was nothing at all particular 
about the knocker on the door of this house, except that it 
195 was very large ; also, that Scrooge had seen it, night and 
morning, during his whole residence in that place ; also, that 
Scrooge had as little of what is called fancy about him as 
any man in the city of London. And yet Scrooge, having 
his key in the lock of the door, saw in the knocker, without 
200 its undergoing any intermediate process of change, not a 
knocker, but Marley's face. 



1 86 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

Marley's face, with a dismal light about it, like a bad lob- 
ster in a dark cellar. It was not angry or ferocious, but it 
looked at Scrooge as Marley used to look — with ghostly 

205 spectacles turned up upon his ghostly forehead. 

As Scrooge looked fixedly at this phenomenon it was a 

knocker again. He said, " Pooh, pooh ! " and closed the 

door with a bang. • 

The sound resounded through the house like thunder. 

210 Every room above, arid every cask in the wine-merchant's 
cellar below, appeared to have a separate peal of echoes of 
its own. Scrooge was not a man to be frightened by echoes. 
He fastened the door, and walked across the hall, and up 
the stairs. Slowly too, trimming his candle as he went. 

215 Up Scrooge went, not caring a button for its being very 
dark. Darkness is cheap, and Scrooge liked it. But before 
he shut his heavy door, he walked through his rooms to 
see that all was right. He had just enough recollection of 
the face to desire to do that. 

220 Sitting-room, bed-room, lumber-room, all as they should 
be. Nobody under the table, nobody under the sofa ; a 
small fire in the grate ; spoon and basin ready ; and the lit- 
tle saucepan of gruel (Scrooge had a cold in his head) upon 
the hob. Nobody under the bed; nobody in the closet; 

225 nobody in his dressing gown, which was hanging up in a 
suspicious attitude against the wall. Lumber-room as 
usual. Old fire-guard, old shoes, two fish-baskets, washing- 
stand on three legs, and a poker. 

Quite satisfied, he closed the door, and locked himself in ; 

230 double locked himself in, which was not his custom. Thus 
secured against surprise, he took off his cravat, put on his 
dressing-gown and slippers and his nightcap, and sat down 
before the very low fire to take his gruel. 

As he threw his head back in the chair, his glance hap- 

235 pened to rest upon a bell, a disused bell, that hung in the 
room, and communicated, for some purpose now forgotten, 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 1 87 

with a chamber in the highest story of the building. It was 
with great astonishment, and with a strange, inexplicable 
dread, that as he looked, he saw this bell begin to swing. 
240 Soon it rang out loudly, and so did every bell in the house. 
This was succeeded by a clanking noise, deep down below, 
as if some person were dragging a heavy chain over the 
casks in the wine-merchant's cellar. 

Then he heard the noise much louder on the floors 
245 below ; then coming up the stairs ; then coming straight 
towards his door. 

It came on through the heavy door, and a* spectre passed 
into the room before his eyes. And upon its coming in, the 
dying flame leaped up, as though it cried, " I know him ! 
250 Marley's ghost ! " 

The same face, the very same. Marley in his pigtail, 
usual waistcoat, tights, and boots. His body was trans- 
parent ; so that Scrooge, observing him, and looking through 
his waistcoat, could see the two buttons on his coat behind. 
255 Scrooge had often heard it said that Marley had no bow- 
els, but he had never believed it until now. 

No, nor did he believe it even now. Though he looked 
the phantom through and through, and saw it standing be- 
fore him, — though he felt the chilling influence of its death- 
260 cold eyes, and noticed the very texture of the folded 
kerchief bound about its head and chin, — he was still incred- 
lous. 

" How now ! " said Scrooge, caustic and cold as ever. 
" What do you want with me ? " 
2G5 " Much ! " Marley's voice, no doubt about it. 
" Who are you ? " 
" Ask me who I was." 
" Who were you, then ? " 
" In life I was your partner, Jacob Marley." 
270 " Can you — can you sit down ? " 
"I can." 



1 88 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

"Do it, then. 

Scrooge asked the question, because he didn't know 

whether a ghost so transparent might find himself in a con- 

275 dition to take a chair ; and felt that, in the event of its 

being impossible, it might involve the necessity of an 

embarrassing explanation. But the ghost sat down on the 

opposite side of the fireplace, as if he were quite used to it. 

" You don't believe in me." 

280 " I don't." 

" What evidence would you have of my reality beyond 
that of youf senses ? " 
" I don't know." 

" Why do you doubt your senses ? " 
285 "Because a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of 
the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undi- 
gested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a 
fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy 
than of grave about you, whatever you are ! " 
290 Scrooge was not much in the habit of cracking jokes, nor 
did he feel in his heart by any means waggish then. The 
truth is, that lie tried to be smart, as a means of distracting 
his own attention, and keeping down his horror. 

But how much greater was his horror when, the phantom 
295 taking off the bandage round its head, as if it were too warm 
to wear indoors, its lower jaw dropped down upon its breast ! 
"Mercy! Dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me? 
Why do spirits walk the earth, and why do they come to 
me ? " 
300 " It is required of every man, that the spirit within him 
should walk abroad among his fellow-men, and travel far 
and wide ; and if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is con- 
demned to do so after death. I cannot tell you all I would. 
A very little more is permitted to me. I cannot rest, I can- 
305 not stay, I cannot linger anywhere. My spirit never walked 
beyond our counting-house— mark me ! — in life my spirit 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 189 

never roved beyond the narrow limits of our money-chang- 
ing hole ; and weary journeys lie before me ! " 

" Seven years dead. And traveling all the time ? You 
310 travel fast ? " 

" On the wings of the wind." 

"You might have got over a great quantity of ground in 
seven years." 

" O, blind man, blind man! not to know that ages of 
sis incessant labor by immortal creatures for this earth must 
pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptible 
is all developed. Not to know that any Christian spirit 
working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will 
find its mortal life too short for its vast means of usefulness. 
320 Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for 
one life's opportunities misused! Yet I was like this man : 
I once was like this man ! " 

" But you were always a good man of business, Jacob," 
faltered Scrooge, who now began to apply this to himself. 
3-25 " Business ! " cried the Ghost, wringing its hands again. 
" Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my 
business ; charity, mercy, forbearance, benevolence, were all 
my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of 
water in the comprehensive ocean of my business ! " 
&30 Scrooge was very much dismayed to hear the spectre go- 
ing on at this rate, and began to quake exceedingly. 
" Hear me ! My time is nearly gone." 
"I will. But don't be hard upon me ! Don't be flowery, 
Jacob ! Pray ! " 
335 "I am here to-nig-lit to warn you that vou have vet a 
chance and hope of escaping my fate. A chance and hope 
of my procuring, Ebenezer." 

" You were always a good friend to me. Thank'ee ! " 
" You will be haunted by Three Spirits." 
340 " Is that the chance and hope you mentioned, Jacob ? I — 
' I— think I'd rather not." 



I9P A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

"Without their visits, you cannot hope to shun the path I 
tread. Expect the first to-morrow night, when the bell tolls 
One. Expect the second on the next night at the same hour. 

345 The third, upon the next night, when the last stroke of 
Twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more ; 
and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has 
passed between us!'' 

It walked backward from him ; and at every step it took, 

350 the window raised itself a little, so that, when the apparition 
reached it, it was wide open. 

Scrooge closed the window, and examined the door by 
which the Ghost had entered. It was double-locked, as he 
had locked it with his own hands, and the bolts were undis- 

355 turbed. Scrooge tried to say, "Humbug!" but stopped at 
the first syllable. And being, from the emotion he had 
undergone, or the fatigues of the day, or his glimpse of the 
invisible world, or the dull conversation of the Ghost, or the 
lateness of the hour, much in need of repose, he went 

360 straight to bed, without undressing, and fell asleep on the 
instant. 

STAVE TWO. THE FIRST OF THE THREE SPIRITS. 

When Scrooge awoke, it was so dark, that looking out of 
bed he could scarcely distinguish the transparent window 
from the opaque walls of his chamber, until suddenly the 
church clock tolled a deep, dull, hollow, melancholy ONE. 

5 Light flashed up in the room upon the instant, and the 
curtains of his bed were drawn aside by a strange figure — 
like a child : yet not so like a child as like an old man, viewed 
through some supernatural medium, which gave him the 
appearance of having receded from the view, and being 

to diminished to a child's proportions. Its hair, which hung 
about its neck and down its back, was white as if with age ; 
and yet the face had not a wrinkle in it, and the tenderest 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. I9I 

bloom was on the skin. It held a branch of fresh green 
holly in its hand ; and, in singular contradiction of that 
15 wintry emblem, had its dress trimmed with summer 
flowers. 

But the strangest thing about it was, that from the crown 

of its head there sprung a bright, clear jet of light, by which 

all this was visible ; and which was doubtless the occasion 

20 of its using, in its duller moments, a great extinguisher for 

a cap, which it now held under its arm. 

" Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me?" 
"I am!" 

"Who and what are you ? " 
25 " I am the Ghost of Christmas Past." 
"Long past?" 

" No. Your past. The things that you will see with me 
are shadows of the things that have been ; they will have 
no consciousness of us. " 
30 Scrooge then made bold to inquire what business brought 
him there. 

" Your welfare. Rise, and walk with me !" 

It would have been in vain for Scrooge to plead that the 

weather and the hour were not adapted to pedestrian pur- 

35 poses; that the bed was warm, and the thermometer a long 

way below freezing; that he was clad but lightly in his 

slippers, dressing-gown, and nightcap ; and that he had a 

cold upon him at that time. The grasp, though gentle as a 

woman's hand, was not to be resisted. He rose ; but find- 

40 ing that the Spirit made towards the -window, clasped its 

robe in supplication. 

"I am a mortal, and liable to fall." 
" Bear but a touch of my hand there, " said the Spirit, lay- 
ing it upon his heart, " and you shall be upheld in more than 
45 this ! " 

As the words were spoken, they passed through the wall, 
and stood in the busy thoroughfares of a city. It was 



\Q2 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

made plain enough by the dressing of the shops that here, 
too, it was Christmas time. 

50 The Ghost stopped at a certain warehouse door, and 
asked Scrooge if he knew it. 

" Know it ! I was apprenticed here ! " 
They went in. At sight of an old gentleman in a Welsh 
wig, sitting behind such a high desk that, if he had been two 

55 inches taller, he must have knocked his head against the 

ceiling, Scrooge cried in great excitement, "Why, it's old 

Fezziwig ! Bless his heart, it's Fezziwig, alive again!'* 

Old Fezziwig laid down his pen and looked up at the 

clock, which pointed to the hour of seven. He rubbed his 

60 hands ; adjusted his capacious waistcoat ; laughed all over 
himself, from his shoes to his organ of benevolence ; and 
called out in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat, jovial voice, " Yo 
ho, there ! Ebenezer ! Dick ! " 

A living and moving picture of Scrooge's former self, a 

65 young man, came briskly in, accompanied by his fellow- 
prentice. 

" Dick Wilkins, to be sure ! " said Scrooge to the Ghost. 
" My old fellow-' prentice, bless me, yes. There he is. He 
was very much attached to me, was Dick. Poor Dick ! 

70 Dear, dear ! " 

' Yo ho, my boys ! " said Fezziwig. " No more work to- 
night. Christmas Eve, Dick. Christmas, Ebenezer ! Let's 
have the shutters up, before a man. can say Jack Robinson ! 
Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room here ! " 

75 Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have 
cleared away, or couldn't have cleared away, with old Fezzi- 
wig looking on. It was done in a minute. Every movable 
was packed off, as if it were dismissed from public life for ever 
more ; the floor was swept and watered, the lamps were 

80 trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire : and the warehouse 
was as snug and warm and dry and bright a ball-room as 
you would desire to see upon a winter's night. 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 1 93 

In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the 
lofty desk, and made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty 
85 stomach-aches. In came Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substan- 
tial smile. In came the three Miss Fezziwigs, beaming and 
loveable. In came the six young followers whose hearts 
they broke. In came all the young men and women 
employed in the business. In came the housemaid, with 
90 her cousin the baker. In came the cook, with her brother's 
particular friend the milkman. In they all came, one after 
another ; some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some 
awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling; in they all came, 
anyhow and everyhow. Away they all went, twenty couple 
95 at once ; hands half round and back again the other way ; 
down the middle and up again ; round and round in various 
stages of affectionate grouping; old top couple always turn- 
ing up in the wrong place; new top couple starting off again, 
as soon as they got there ; all top couples at last, and not a 

100 bottom one to help them. When this result was brought 

about, old Fezziwig, clapping his hands to stop the dance, 

cried out, " Well done ! " and the fiddler plunged his hot 

face into a pot of porter especially provided for that purpose. 

There were more dances, and there were forfeits, and 

105 more dances, and there was cake, and there was negus, and 
there was a great piece of Cold Roast, and there was a 
great piece of Cold Boiled, and there were mince-pies, and 
plenty of beer. But the great effect of the evening came 
after the Roast and Boiled, when the fiddler struck up 

110 "Sir Roger de Coverley. " Then old Fezziwig stood out 
to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top couple, too ; with a good 
stiff piece of work cut out for them ; three or four and 
twenty pair of partners ; people who were not to be trifled 
with ; people who would dance, and had no notion of walk- 

115 ing. 

But if they had been twice as many, — four times, — old 
Fezziwig would have been a match for them, and so would 



194 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

Mrs. Fezzivvig. As to her, she was worthy to be his partner 
in every sense of the term. A positive light appeared to 

120 issue from Fezziwig's calves. They shone in every part of 
the dance. You couldn't have predicted, at any given time, 
what would become of 'em next. And when old Fezziwig 
and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone all through the dance, — ad- 
vance and retire, turn your partner, bow and courtesy, cork- 

125 screw, thread the needle, and back again to your place, — 
Fezziwig " cut " — cut so deftly, that he appeared to wink 
with his legs. 

When the clock struck eleven, this domestic ball broke up. 
Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig took their stations, one on either 

130 side the door, and, shaking hands with every person individ- 
ually as he or she went out, wished him or her a Merry 
Christmas. When everybody had retired but the two 
'prentices, they did the same to them ; and thus the cheerful 
voices died away, and the lads were left to their beds, which 

135 were under a counter in the back shop. 

"A small matter," said the Ghost, "to make these silly 
folks so full of gratitude. He has spent but a few pounds 
of your mortal money — three or four perhaps. Is that so 
much that he deserves this praise ? " 

ho " It isn't that/' said Scrooge, heated by the remark, and 
speaking unconsciously like his former, not his latter self, — 
" it isn't that, Spirit. He has the power to render us happy 
or unhappy ; to make our service light or burdensome ; a 
pleasure or a toil. Say that his power lies in words and 

145 looks; in things so slight and insignificant that it is im- 
possible to add and count 'em up : what then ? The 
happiness he gives is quite as great as if it cost a 
fortune." 
He felt the Spirit's glance, and stopped. 

150 "What is the matter?" 
" Nothing particular." 
" Something, I think? " 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 1 95 

" No, no. I should like to be able to say a word or two 
to my clerk just now. That's all." 
155 " My time grows short," observed the Spirit. " Quick I" 
This was not addressed to Scrooge, or to any one whom 
he could see, but it produced an immediate effect. For 
again he saw himself. He was older now ; a man in the 
prime of life. 
160 He was not alone, but sat by the side of a fair young girl 
in a black dress, in whose eyes there were tears. 

" It matters little," she said softly to Scrooge's former self. 
To you, very little. Another idol has displaced me ; and 
if it can comfort you in time to come, as I would have tried 
165 to do, I have no just cause to grieve." 
"What Idol has displaced you ? " 

" A golden one. You fear the world too much. I have 
seen your nobler aspirations fall off one by one, until the 
master-passion, Gain, engrosses you. Have I not ? " 
170 " What then? Even if I have grown so much wiser, what 
then ? I am not changed towards you. Have I ever 
sought release from our engagement?" 
" In words, no. Never." 
"In what, then ?" 
175 " In a changed nature ; in an altered spirit : in another 
atmosphere of life ; another Hope as its great end. If you 
were free to-day, to-morrow, yesterday, can even I believe 
that you would choose a dowerless girl ; or choosing her, do 
I not know that your repentance and regret would surely 
180 follow? I do ; and I release you. With a full heart, for 
the love of him you once were." 

" Spirit ! remove me from this place." 
" I told you these were shadows of the things that have 
been," said the Ghost. ''That they are what they are, do 
185 not blame me ! " 

" Remove me ! " Scrooge exclaimed. " I cannot bear 
it ! Leave me ! Take me back ! Haunt me no longer ! " 



ig6 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

As he struggled with the Spirit he was conscious of being 
exhausted, and overcome by an irresistible drowsiness ; and, 
190 further, of being in his own bed-room. He had barely time 
to reel to bed before he sank into a heavy sleep. 



STAVE THREE. — THE SECOND OF THE THREE SPIRITS. 

Scrooge awoke in his own bed-room. There was no 
doubt about that. But it and his own adjoining sitting- 
room, into which he shuffled in his slippers, attracted by a 
great light there, had undergone a surprising transformation. 
5 The walls and ceiling were so hung with living green, that 
it looked a perfect grove. The leaves of holly, mistletoe, 
and ivy reflected back the light, as if so many little mirrors 
had been scattered there; and such a mighty blaze went 
roaring up the chimney, as that petrifaction of a hearth had 
10 never known in Scrooge's time, or Marleys, or for many and 
many a winter season gone. Heaped upon the floor, to 
form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, brawn, 
great joints of meat, sucking pigs, long wreaths of sausages, 
mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chest- 
is nuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, 
immense twelfth-cakes, and great bowls of punch. In easy 
state upon this couch there sat a Giant, glorious to see ; who 
bore a glowing torch, in shape not unlike Plenty's horn, and 
who raised it high to shed its light on Scrooge, as he came 
20 peeping round the door. 

" Come in, — -come in ! and know me better, man ! I am 
the Ghost of Christmas Present. Look upon me! You 
have never seen the likes of me before ! " 
" Never." 
25 " Have never walked forth with the younger members of 
my family ; meaning (for I am very young) my elder 
brothers, born in these later years ? " pursued the Phan- 
tom. 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 1 97 

" I don't think I have, I am afraid I have not. Have 

30 you had many brothers, Spirit ? " 
" More than eighteen hundred. " 

"A tremendous family to provide for! Spirit, conduct 
me where you will. I went forth last night on compulsion, 
and I learnt a lesson which is working now. To-night, if 

35 you have aught to teach me, let me profit by it." 
" Touch my robe ! " 

Scrooge did as he was told, and held it fast. 
The room and its contents all vanished instantly, and they 
stood in the city streets upon a snowy Christmas morning. 

40 Scrooge and the Ghost passed on, invisible, straight to 
Scrooge's clerk's ; and on the threshold of the door the 
Spirit smiled, and stopped to bless Bob Cratchit's dwelling 
with the sprinklings of his torch. Think of that ! Bob 
had but fifteen " Bob " a week himself; he pocketed on 

45 Saturdays but fifteen copies of his Christian name; and yet 
the Ghost of Christmas Present blessed his four-roomed 
house ! 

Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's wife, dressed out 
but poorly in a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, 

50 which are cheap and make a goodly show for sixpence ; and 
she laid the cloth assisted by Belinda Cratchit, second of her 
daughters, also brave in ribbons ; while Master Peter 
Cratchit plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes, and, 
getting the corners of his monstrous shirt-collar (Bob's 

55 private property, conferred upon his son and heir in honor 
of the day), into his mouth, rejoiced to find himself so 
gallantly attired, and yearned to show his linen in the 
fashionable Parks. And now two smaller Cratchits, boy 
and girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside the baker's 

60 they had smelt the goose, and known it for their own ; and, 
basking in luxurious thoughts of sage and onion, these young 
Cratchits danced about the table, and exalted Master Peter 
Cratchit to the skies while he (not proud, although his collar 



I98 A CHA'ISTMAS CAROL. 

nearly choked him) blew the fire, until the slow potatoes, 
65 bubbling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan-lid to be let 
out and peeled. 

" What has ever got your precious father then ? " said 
Mrs. Cratchit. "And your brother, Tiny Tim ! And Mar- 
tha warn't as late last Christmas day by half an hour! " 
70 " Here's Martha, mother ! " said a girl, appearing as she 
spoke. 

" Here's Martha, mother ! " cried the two young Cratchits. 
" Hurrah ! There's such a goose, Martha ! " 

" Why, bless your heart alive, my clear, how late you are ! " 
75 said Mrs. Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off 
her shawl and bonnet for her. 

"We'd a deal of work to finish up last night," replied the 
girl, " and had to clear away this morning, mother! " 

"Well ! Never mind so long as you are come," said Mrs. 
80 Cratchit. " Sit ye down before the fire, my dear, and have 
a warm, Lord bless ye ! " 

" No, no ! There's father coming," cried the two young 
Cratchits, who were everywhere at once. " Hide, Martha, 
hide ! " 
85 So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the father, 
with at least three feet of comforter, exclusive of the fringe, 
hanging down before him ; and his threadbare clothes 
darned up and brushed, to look seasonable ; and Tiny Tim 
upon his shoulder. Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a little 
90 crutch, and had his limbs supported by an iron frame. 

" Why, where's our Martha ? " cried Bob Cratchit, look- 
ing round. 

" Not coming," said Mrs. Cratchit. 

" Not coming ! " said Bob, with a sudden declension in 
95 his high spirits ; for he had been Tim's blood-horse all the 
way from church, and had come home rampant, — "not 
coming, upon Christmas day ! " 

Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if it were 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. I99 

in a joke ; so she came out prematurely from behind the 

100 closet door, and ran into his arms, while the two young 
Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim, and bore him of! into the wash- 
house, that he might hear the pudding singing in the copper. 
"And how did little Tim behave ? " asked Mrs. Cratchit, 
when she had rallied Bob on his credulity, and Bob had 

105 hugged his daughter to his heart's content. 

" As good as gold," said Bob, "and better. Somehow he 
gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the 
strangest things you ever heard. He told me, coming home, 
that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he 

110 was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember, 
upon Christmas day, who made lame beggars walk and blind 
men see." 

Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and 
trembled more when he said that Tiny Tim was growing 

115 strong and hearty. 

His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back 
came Tiny Tim before another word was spoken, escorted 
by his brother and sister to his stool beside the fire ; and 
while Bob, turning up his cuffs, — as if, poor fellow, they were 

120 capable of being made more shabby, — compounded some 
hot mixture in a jug with gin and lemons, and stirred it 
round and round and put it on the hob to simmer, Master 
Peter and the two ubiquitous young Cratchits went to fetch 
the goose, with which they soon returned in high procession. 

125 Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little 
saucepan) hissing hot ; Master Peter mashed the potatoes 
with incredible vigor ; Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple- 
sauce ; Martha dusted the hot plates ; Bob took Tiny Tim 
beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two young 

130 Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, 
and, mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into 
their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their 
turn came to be helped. At last the dishes were set on, and 



200 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

grace was said. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as 

135 Mrs. Cratch it, looking slowly along the carving-knife, pre- 
pared to plunge it in the breast ; but when she did, and when 
the long-expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur 
of delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, 
excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with 

140 the handle of his knife, and feebly cried, Hurrah! 

There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe 
there was ever such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and 
flavor, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal 
admiration. Eked out by apple-sauce and mashed potatoes, 

145 it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed, as 

• Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small 

atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn't ate it all at last! 

Yet every one had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits 

in particular were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows ! 

150 But now, the plates being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs. 
Cratchit left the room alone, — too nervous to bear witnesses, 
— to take the pudding up, and bring it in. 

Suppose it should not be done enough ! Suppose it should 
break, in turning out ! Suppose somebody should have got 

155 over the wall of the back yard, and stole it, while they were 

merry with the goose, — a supposition at which the two young 

Cratchits became livid ! All sorts of horrors were supposed. 

Hallo ! A great deal of steam ! The pudding was out of 

the copper. A smell like a washing-day ! That was the 

160 cloth. A smell like an eating-house and a pastry-cook's 
next door to each other, with a laundress's next door to that! 
That was the pudding ! In half a minute Mrs.' Cratchit 
entered, — flushed but smiling proudly, —with the pudding, 
like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in 

165 half of half a quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight with 
Christmas holly stuck into the top. 

O, a wonderful pudding ! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly 
too, that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 201 

Mrs. Cratchit since their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that 

170 now the weight was off her mind, she would confess she had 
had her doubts about the quantity of flour. Everybody had 
something to say about it, but nobody said or thought it was 
at all a small pudding for a large family. Any Cratchit 
would have blushed to hint at such a thing. 

175 At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the 
hearth swept, and the fire made up." The compound in the 
jug being tasted, and considered perfect, apples and 
oranges were put upon the table, and a shovelful of chest- 
nuts on the fire. 

180 Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth, in 
what Bob Cratchit called a circle, and at Bob Cratchit's 
elbow stood the family display of glass, — two tumblers, and 
a custard-cup without a handle. 

These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as 

185 golden goblets would have done ; and Bob served it out 
with beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sput- 
tered and crackled noisily. Then Bob proposed : — 
" A Merry Christmas to us all, my clears. God bless us ! " 
Which all the family re-echoed. 

190 " God bless us, every one ! " said Tiny Tim, the last of all. 
' He sat veryxlose to his father's side, upon his stool. Bob 
held his withered little hand in his, as if he loved the child, 
and wished to keep him by his side, and dreaded that he 
might be taken from him. 

195 Scrooge raised his head speedily, on hearing his own 
name. 

" Mr. Scrooge ! " said Bob ; " I'll give you, Mr. Scrooge, 
the Founder of the Feast ! " 

" The Founder of the Feast indeed ! " cried Mrs. Cratchit, 

200 reddening. " I wish I had him here. I'd give him a piece 
of my mind to feast upon, and I hope he'd have a good 
appetite for it." 

" My dear/' said Bob, " the children ! Christmas day ! " 



202 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

" It should be Christmas day, I am sure," said she, " on 

205 which one drinks the health of such an odious, stingy, hard, 
unfeeling man as Mr. Scrooge. You know he is, Robert ! 
Nobody knows it better than you do, poor fellow ! " 
" My dear," was Bob's mild answer, " Christmas day." 
" I'll drink his health for your sake and the day's," said 

210 Mrs. Cratchit, " not for his. Long life to him ! A merry 
Christmas and a happy New Year! He'll be very merry 
and very happy, I have no doubt ! " 

The children drank the toast after her. It was the first 
of their proceedings which had no heartiness in it. Tiny 

215 Tim drank it last of all, but he didn't care twopence for it. 

Scrooge was the Ogre of the family. The mention of his 

name cast a dark shadow on the party, which was not 

dispelled for full five minutes. 

After it had passed away, they were ten times merrier 

220 than before, from the mere relief of Scrooge the Baleful 
being done with. Bob Cratchit told them how he had a 
situation in his eye for Master Peter, which would bring in^ 
if obtained, full five and sixpence weekly. The two young 
Cratchits laughed tremendously at the idea of Peter's being 

225 a man of business ; and Peter himself looked thoughtfully 
at the fire from between his collars, as if he were deliberat- 
ing what particular investments he should favor when he 
came into the receipt of that bewildering income. Martha, 
who was a poor apprentice at a milliner's, then told them 

230 what kind of work she had to do, and how many hours she 
worked at a stretch, and how she meant to lie abed to- 
morrow morning for a good long rest ; to-morrow being a 
holiday she passed at home. Also, how she had seen a 
countess and a lord some clays before, and how the lord 

235 " was much about as tall as Peter ; " at which Peter pulled 
up his collars so high that you couldn't have seen his head 
if you had been there. All this time the chestnuts and the 
jug went round and round ; and by and by they had a song, 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 203 

about a lost child traveling in the snow, from Tiny Tim, 

240 who had a plaintive little voice, and sang it very well 
indeed. 

There was nothing of high mark in this. They were not 
a handsome family ; they were not well dressed ; their shoes 
were far from being water-proof ; their clothes were scanty ; 

245 and Peter might have known and very likely did, the inside 
of a pawnbroker's. But they were happy, grateful, pleased 
with one another, and contented with the time ; and when 
they faded, and looked happier yet in the bright sprinklings 
of the Spirit's torch at parting, Scrooge had his eye upon 

250 them, and especially on Tiny Tim, until the last. 

It was a great surprise to Scrooge, as this scene vanished 
to hear a hearty laugh. It was a much greater surprise to 
Scrooge to recognize it as his own nephew's, and to find 
himself in a bright, dry, gleaming room, with the Spirit 

255 standing smiling by his side, and looking at that same 
nephew. 

It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that 
while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is 
nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter 

260 and good-humor. When Scrooge's nephew laughed, 
Scrooge's niece by" marriage laughed as heartily as he. 
And their assembled friends, being not a bit behindhand, 
laughed out lustily. 

" He said that Christmas was a humbug, as I live ! " cried 

265 Scrooge's nephew. " He believed it too ! " 

" More shame for him, Fred ! " said Scrooge's niece, 
indignantly. Bless those women ! they never do anything 
by halves. They are always in earnest. 

She was very pretty; exceedingly pretty. With a dimpled, 

270 surprised-looking, capital face, a ripe little mouth that 
seemed made to be kissed, — as no doubt it was ; all kinds 
of good little dots about her chin, that melted into one 
another when she laughed : and the sunniest pair of eyes 



204 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

you ever saw in any little creature's head. Altogether she 

275 was what you would have called provoking, but satisfactory, 
too. O, perfectly satisfactory. 

"He's a comical old fellow," said Scrooge's nephew, 
"that's the truth; and not so pleasant as he might be. 
However, his offences carry their own punishment, and I 

280 have nothing to say against him. Who suffers by his ill 
whims ? Himself, always. Here he takes it into his head 
to dislike us, and he won't come and dine with us. What's 
the consequence ? He don't lose much of a dinner." 

"Indeed, I think he loses a very good dinner," inter- 

285 rupted Scrooge's niece. Everybody else said the same, and 
they must be allowed to have been competent judges, 
because they had just had dinner; and, with the dessert 
upon the table, were clustered round the fire, by lamp- 
light. 

290 " Well, I am very glad to hear it," said Scrooge's nephew, 
" because I haven't any great faith in these young house- 
keepers. What do you say, Topper ? " 

Topper clearly had his eyes on one of Scrooge's niece's 
sisters, for he answered that a bachelor was a wretched out- 

295 cast, who had no right to express an opinion on the subject. 
Whereat Scrooge's niece's sister — the plump one with the 
lace tucker; not the one with the roses — blushed. 

After tea they had some music. For they were a musical 
family, and knew what they were about, when they sang a 

300 glee or catch, I can assure you, — especially Topper, who 
could growl away in the bass like a good one, and never 
owell the large veins in his forehead, or get red in the 
face over it. 

But they didn't devote the whole evening to music. After 

305 awhile they played at forfeits ; for it is good to be children 
sometimes, and never better than at Christmas, when its 
mighty Founder was a child himself. There was first a game 
at blind-man 's-bufT, though And I no more believe Topper 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 20$ 

was really blinded than I believe he had eyes in his boots. 

3io Because the way in which he went after that plump sister in 
the lace tucker was an outrage on the credulity of human 
nature. Knocking down the fire-irons, tumbling over the 
chairs, bumping up against the piano, smothering himself 
among the curtains, wherever she went there went he ! He 

315 always knew where the plump sister was. He # wouldn't 
catch anybody else. If you had fallen up against him, as 
some of them did, and stood there, he would have made a 
feint of endeavoring to seize you, which would have been an 
affront to your understanding, and would instantly have 

320 sidled off in the direction of the plump sister. 

" Here is a new game," said Scrooge. " One half-hour, 
Spirit, only one ! " 

It was a Game called Yes and No, where Scrooge's ne- 
phew had to think of something, and the rest must find out 

325 what; he only answering to their questions yes or no, as the 
case was. The fire of questioning to which he was ex- 
posed elicited from him that he was thinking of an animal, 
a live animal rather a disagreeable animal, a savage animal, 
an animal that growled and grunted sometimes, and talked 

330 sometimes, and lived in London, and walked about the 
streets, and wasn't made a show of, and wasn't led by any 
body, and didn't live in a menagerie, and was never killed 
in a market, and was not a horse, or an ass, or a cow, or a 
bull, or a tiger, or a clog, or a pig, or a cat, or a bear. At 

335 every new question put to him, this nephew burst into a 
fresh roar of laughter; and was so inexpressibly tickled, that 
he was obliged to get up off the sofa and stamp. At last 
the plump sister cried out, — 

"I have found it out! I know what it is, Fred! I know 

340 what it is ! " 

"What is it?" cried Fred. 

"It's your uncle Scro-o-o-o-oge ! " 

Which it certainly was. Admiration was the universal 



2o6 A CHRISTMAS CAROL, 

sentiment, though some objected that the reply to " Is it a 

345 bear? " ought to have been " Yes." 

Uncle Scrooge had imperceptibly become so gay and light 
of heart, that he would have drank to the unconscious com- 
pany in an inaudible speech. But the whole scene passed 
off in the breath of the last word spoken by his nephew ; and 

350 he and the Spirit were again upon their travels. 

Much they saw, and far they went, and many homes they 
visited, but always with a happy end. The spirit stood 
beside sick-beds, and they were cheerful ; on foreign lands, 
and they were close at home; by struggling men, and they 

355 were patient in their greater hope ; by poverty and it was 
rich. In almshouse, hospital and jail, in misery's every 
refuge, where vain man in his little brief authority had not 
made fast the door and barred the spirit out, he left his 
blessing, and taught Scrooge his precepts. Suddenly, as 

360 they stood together in an open place, the bell struck twelve. 

Scrooge looked about him for the Ghost, and saw it no 

more. As the last stroke ceased to vibrate, he remembered 

the prediction of old Jacob Marley, and, lifting up his eyes, 

beheld a solemn Phantom, draped and hooded, coming like 

365 a mist along the ground towards him. 

STAVE FOUR. — THE LAST OF THE SPIRITS. 

The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently approached. When 
it came near him, Scrooge bent down upon his knee ; for in 
the air through which this spirit moved it seemed to scatter 
gloom and mystery. 
5 It was shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed 
its head, its face, its form, and left nothing of it visible save 
one outstretched hand. He knew no more, for the spirit 
neither spoke nor moved. 

" I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet To 
10 come ? Ghost of the Future ! I fear you more than any 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 207 

spectre I have seen. But as I know your purpose is to do 
me good, and as I hope to live to be another man from what 
I was, I am prepared to bear you company, and do it with a 
thankful heart. Will you not speak to me ? " 
15 It gave him no reply. The hand was pointed straight 
before them. 

" Lead on ! Lead on ! The night is waning fast, and 
it is precious time to me, I know. Lead on, Spirit ! " 

They scarcely seemed to enter the city ; for the city 

20 rather seemed to spring up about them. But there they 

were in the heart of it; on 'Change, amongst the merchants. 

The Spirit stopped beside one little knot of business men. 

Observing that the hand was pointed to them, Scrooge 

advanced to listen to their talk. 

25 "No," said a great fat man with a monstrous chin," I 

don't know much about it either way. I only know he's 

dead." 

" When did he die ? " inquire another. 
"Last night, I believe." 
30 "Why, what was the matter with him? I thought he'd 
never die." 

" God knows," said the first, with a yawn. 
"What has he done with his money?" asked a red-faced 
gentleman. 
35 I haven't heard," said the man with the large chin. 
" Company, perhaps. He hasn't left it to me. That's all I 
know. By, by ! " 

Scrooge was at first inclined to be surprised that the 
Spirit should attach importance to conversation apparently 
40 so trivial ; but feeling assured that it must have some hidden 
purpose, he set himself to consider what it was likely to be. 
It could scarcely be supposed to have any bearing on the 
death of Jacob, his old partner, for that was Past, and this 
Ghost's province was the Future. 
45 He looked about in that very place for his own image ; 



2o8 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

but another man stood in his accustomed corner, and though 
the clock pointed to his usual time of day for being there, 
he saw no likeness of himself among the multitudes that 
poured in through the Porch. It gave him little surprise. 
50 however, for he had been revolving in his mind a change of 
life, and he thought and hoped he saw his new-born resolu- 
tions carried out in this. 

They left this busy scene, and went into an obscure part 
of the town, to a low shop where iron, old rags, bottles, 
55 bones, and greasy offal were bought. A gray-haired rascal, 
of great age, sat smoking his pipe. 

Scrooge and the Phantom came into the presence of this 
man, just as a woman with a heavy bundle slunk into the 
shop. But she had scarcely entered, when another woman 
60 similarly laden came in too, and she was closely followed by 
a man in faded black. After a short period of blank aston- 
ishment, in which the old man with the pipe had joined them, 
they all three burst into a laugh. 

" Let the charwoman alone to be the first ! " cried she who 

65 had entered first. " Let the laundress alone to be the 

second; and let the undertaker's man alone to be the third. 

Look here, old Joe, here's a chance ! If we haven't all three 

met here without meaning it!" 

"You couldn't have met in a better place. You were 
70 made free of it long ago, you know; and the other two ain't 
strangers. What have you got to sell ? What have you got 
to sell?" 

" Half a minute's patience, Joe, and you shall see. " 
" What odds then ? What odds, Mrs. Dilber ? " said the 
75 woman. 

" Every person has a right to take care of themselves. He 
always did ! Who's the worse for the loss of a few things 
like these ? Not a dead man, I suppose." 

Mrs. Dilber, whose manner was remarkable for general 
so propitiation, said, " No, indeed, ma'am." 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 209 

u If he wanted to keep 'em after he was dead, a wicked old 

screw, why wasn't he natural in his lifetime? If he had 

been, he'd have had somebody to look after him when he 

was struck with Death, instead of lying gasping out his last 

85 there, alone by himself." 

"It's the truest word that ever was spoke ; it's a judgment 
on him." 

" I wish it was a little heavier judgment, and it should 

have been, you may depend upon it, if I could have laid my 

90 hands on anything else. Open that bundle, Joe, and let me 

know the value of it. Speak out plain. I'm not afraid to 

be the first, nor afraid for them to see it. " 

Joe went down on his knees for the greater convenience 
of opening the bundle, and dragged out a large and heavy 
95 roll of some dark stuff. 

"What do you call this ? Bed-curtains ! " 
" Ah ! Bed-curtains ! Don't drop that oil upon the 
blankets, now ! 
"His blankets?" 
100 "Whose else's do you think? He isn't likely to take 
cold without 'em, I dare say. Ah ! You may look through 
that shirt till your eyes ache ; but you won't find a hole in it, 
nor a threadbare place. It's the best he had and a fine one 
too. They'd have wasted it by dressing him up in it, if it 
105 hadn't been for me." 

Scrooge listened to this dialogue in horror. 
" Spirit ! I see, I see. The case of this unhappy man 
might be my own. My life tends that way now. Merciful 
Heaven, what is this ! " 
110 The scene had changed, and now he almost touched a 
bare, uncurtained bed. A pale light, rising in the outer air, 
fell straight upon this bed; and on it, unwatched, unwept, 
uncared for, was the body of this plundered unknown 
man. 
115 "Spirit, let me see some tenderness connected with a 
14 



2IO A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

death, or this dark chamber, Spirit, will be forever present 
to me." 

The Ghost conducted him to poor Bob Cratchit's house, — 
the dwelling he had visited before, — and found the mother 
120 and the children seated around the fire. 

Quiet. Very quiet. The noisy little Cratchits were as 

still as statues in one corner, and sat looking up at Peter, 

who had a book before him. The mother and her daughters 

were' engaged in needle-work. But surely they were very 

125 quiet. 

" ' And he took a child, and set him in the midst of them.' " 

Where had Scrooge heard those words ? He had not 

dreamed them. The boy must have read them out, as he and 

the Spirit crossed the threshold. Why did he not go on ? 

130 The mother laid her work upon the table, and put her 

hand up to her face. 

"The color hurts my eyes," she said. 

The color ? Ah, poor Tiny Tim ! 

" They're better now again. It makes them weak by 
135 candle-light ; and I wouldn't show weak eyes to your father 
when he comes home, for the world. It must be near his 
time." 

" Past it rather," Peter answered, shutting up his book. 
" But I think he has walked a little slower than he used, 
140 these last few evenings, mother." 

" I have known him walk with — I have known him walk 
with Tiny Tim upon his shoulder, very fast indeed." 

"And so have I," cried Peter. " Often." 

" And so have I," exclaimed another. So had all. 
145 " But he was very light to carry, and his father loved him 
so, that it was no trouble, — no trouble. And there is your 
father at the door ! " 

She hurried out to meet him; and little Bob in his com- 
forter — he had need of it, poor fellow — came in. His tea 
150 was ready for him on the hob, and they all tried who should 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 211 

help him to it most. Then the two young Cratchits got upon 
his knees and laid, each child, a little cheek against his face, 
as if they said, " Don't mind it, father. Don't be grieved ! " 

Bob was very cheerful with them, and spoke pleasantly to 
155 all the family. He looked at the work upon the table, and 
praised the industry and speed of Mrs. Cratchit and the 
girls. They would be done long before Sunday, he said. 

" Sunday ! You went to-day, then, Robert ? " 

"Yes, my dear," returned Bob. " I wish you could have 

160 gone. It would have clone you good to see how green a 

place it is. But you'll see it often. I promised him that I 

would walk there on a Sunday. My little, little child ! my 

little child l" 

He broke down all at once. He couldn't help it. If he 
165 could have helped it, he and his child would have been far- 
ther apart, perhaps, than they were. 

" Spectre," said Scrooge, " something informs me that our 
parting moment is at hand. I know it, but I know not how. 
Tell me what man that was, with the covered face, whom we 
170 saw lying dead ? " 

The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come conveyed him to a 
dismal, wretched, ruinous churchyard. 

The spirit stood among the graves, and pointed down to 
One. 
175 "Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you point, 
answer me one question. Are these the shadows of the 
things that Will be, or are they shadows of the things that 
May be only ? " 

Still the Ghost pointed downward to the grave by which it 
180 stood. 

" Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if 
persevered in, they must lead. But if the courses be 
departed from, the ends will change. Say it is thus with 
what you show me ! " 
185 The spirit was immovable as ever. 



212 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

Scrooge crept towards it, trembling as he went ; and, 
following the finger, read upon the stone of the neglected 
grave his own name, — Ebenezer Scrooge. 

"Am I that man who lay upon the bed ? No, Spirit! O 
190 no, no ! Spirit ! hear me ! I am not the man I was. I will 
not be the man I must have been but for this intercourse. 
Why show me this, if I am past all hope ? Assure me that I 
yet may change these shadows you have shown me by an 
altered life." 
195 For the first time the kind hand faltered. 

"I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it 

all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the 

Future. The Spirits of all three shall strive within me. I 

will not shut out the lessons that they teach. O, tell me I 

200 may sponge away the writing on this stone ! " 

Holding up his hands in one last prayer to have his fate 
reversed, he saw an alteration in the Phantom's hood and 
dress. It shrunk, collapsed, and dwindled down into a bed- 
post. 
205 Yes, and the bedpost was his own. The bed was his own, 
the room was his own. Best and happiest of all, the Time 
before him was his own, to make amends in ! 

He was checked in his transports by the churches ring- 
ing out the lustiest peals he had ever heard. 
210 Running to the window he opened it, and put out his head. 
No fog, no mist, no night ; clear, bright, stirring, golden day. 

" What's to-day ? " cried Scrooge, calling downward to a 
boy in Sunday clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look 
about him. 
215 " Eh ? " 

" What's to-day, my fine fellow ? " 

" To-day ! Why, Christmas day." 

"It's Christmas day! I haven't missed it. Hallo, my 
fine fellow ! " 
220 " Hallo ! " 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 



213 



"Do you know the Poulterer's, in the next street but one, 
at the corner ? " 

" I should hope I did." 

"An intelligent boy! A remarkable boy! do you know 
225 whether they've sold the prize Turkey that was hanging up 
there ? Not the little prize Turkey, — the big one ? " 

" What, the one as big as me ? " 

"What a delightful boy! It's a pleasure to talk to him. 
Yes, my buck ! " 
230 " It's hanging there now." 

" Is it ! go and buy it." 

" Walk-ER ! " exclaimed the boy. 

" No, no, I am in earnest. Go and buy it, and tell 'em to 

bring it here, that I may give them the direction where to 

235 take it. Come back with the man, and I'll give you a 

shilling. Come back with him in less than five minutes, 

and I'll give you half a crown ! " 

The boy was off like a shot. 

" I'll send it to Bob Cratchit's ! He shan't know who 
240 sends it. It's twice the size of Tiny Tim. Joe Miller never 
made such a joke as sending it to Bob's will be ! " 

The hand in which he wrote the address was not a steady 
one ; but write it he did, somehow, and went down-stairs to 
open the street door, ready for the coming of the poulterer's 
245 man. 

It was a Turkey ! He never could have stood upon his 
legs, that bird. He would have snapped 'em short off in a 
minute, like sticks of sealing-wax. 

Scrooge dressed himself " all in his best," and at last got 
250 out into the streets. The people were by this time pouring 
forth, as he had seen them with the Ghost of Christmas 
Present ; and, walking with his hands behind him, Scrooge 
regarded every one with a delighted smile. He looked so 
irresistibly pleasant, in a word, that three or four good- 
255 humored fellows said, " Good morning, sir ! A merry Christ- 



214 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

mas to you ! " And Scrooge said often afterwards, that, of all 
the blithe sounds he had ever heard, those were the blithest 
in his ears. 

In the afternoon, he turned his steps towards his nephew's 
260 house. 

He passed the door a dozen times, before he had the 
courage to go up and knock. But he made a dash, and did it. 

" Is your master at home, my dear ? " said Scrooge to the 
girl. Nice girl ! Very. 
265 "Yes, sir." 

" Where is he, my love ? " 

" He's in the dining-room, sir, along with mistress. " 

" He knows me," said Scrooge, with his hand already on 
the dining-room lock. " I'll go in here, my dear." 
2ro " Fred ! " 

" Why, bless my soul ! " cried Fred, " who's that ? " 

"It's I. Your uncle Scrooge. I have come to dinner. 
Will you let me in, Fred ? " 

Let him in ] It is a mercy he didn't shake his arm off. 
275 He was at home in five minutes. Nothing could be heartier. 
His niece looked just the same. So did Topper when he 
came. So did the plump sister, when she came. So did 
every one when they came. Wonderful party, wonderful 
games, wonderful unanimity, won-der-ful happiness ! 
280 But he was early at the office next morning. O, he was 
early there. If he could only, be there first, and catch Bob 
Cratchit coming late ! That was the thing he had set his 
heart upon. 

And he did it. The clock struck nine. No Bob. A 
285 quarter past. No Bob. Bob was full eighteen minutes and 
a half behind his time. Scrooge sat with his door wide open, 
that he might see him come into the Tank. 

Bob's hat was off, before he opened the door; his com- 
forter too. He was on his stool in a jiffy ; driving away with 
290 his pen, as if he were trying to overtake nine o'clock. 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 21 5 

"Hallo!" growled Scrooge, in his accustomed voice, as 
near as he could feign it. " What do you mean by coming 
here at this time of clay ? " 

" I am very sorry, sir. I am behind my time." 

295 " You are ? Yes. I think you are. Step this way, if you 
please." 

" It's only once a year, sir. It shall not be repeated. I 
was making rather merry yesterday, sir." 
" Now, I'll tell you what, my friend. I am not going to 

300 stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore," Scrooge 
continued, leaping from his stool, and giving Bob such a dig 
in the waistcoat that he staggered back into the Tank 
again, — "and therefore I am about to raise your salary! " 
Bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the ruler. 

305 "A merry Christmas, Bob!" said Scrooge, with an ear- 
nestness that could not be mistaken, as he clapped him on 
the back. " A merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than 
I have given you for many a year ! I'll raise your salary, 
and endeavor to assist your struggling family, and we will 

310 discuss your affairs this very afternoon, over a Christmas 
bowl of smoking bishop, Bob ! Make up the fires, and buy a 
second coal-scuttle before you dot another i, Bob Cratchit ! " 
Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infi- 
nitely more ; and to Tiny Tim, who did not die, he was a 

315 second father. He became as good a friend, as good a 
master, and as good a man as the good old city knew, or any 
other good old city, town, or borough in the good old world. 
Some people laughed to see the alteration in him ; but his 
own heart laughed, and that was quite enough for him. 

320 He had no further intercourse with spirits, but lived in 
that respect upon the Total-Abstinence Principle ever after- 
wards ; and it was always said of him, that he knew how to 
keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowl- 
edge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, 

325 as Tiny Tim observed, God Bless Us, Every One ! 



ASLAUGA'S KNIGHT. 

BY 

DE LA MOTTE FOUQUE. 
CHAPTER I. 

Many years ago there lived in the island of Fiihnen a 
noble knight, called Froda, the friend of the Skalds, who 
was so named because he not only offered free hospitality 
in his fair castle to every renowned and noble bard, but 

5 likewise strove with all his might to discover those ancient 
songs, and tales and legends which, in Runic writings or 
elsewhere, were still to be found ; he had even made some 
voyages to Iceland in search of them, and had fought many 
a hard battle with the pirates of those seas — for he was also 

10 a right valiant knight, and he followed his great ancestors 
not only in their love of song, but also in their bold deeds of 
arms. Although he was still scarcely beyond the prime of 
youth, yet all the other nobles in the island willingly sub- 
mitted themselves to him, whether in council or in war; nay, 

15 his renown had even been carried, ere now, over the sea to 
the neighboring land of Germany. 

One bright autumn evening, this honor-loving knight sat 
before his castle, as he was often wont to do, that he might 
look far and wide over land and sea, and that he might invite 

20 any travelers who were passing by, as was his custom, to 
share in his noble hospitality. But on this clay he saw little 
of all that he was accustomed to look upon; for on his knees 
there lay an ancient book with skillfully and richly painted 
characters, which a learned Icelander had just sent to him 

25 across the sea: it was the history of Aslauga, the fair daugh- 
ter of Sigurd, who at first, concealing her high birth, kept 
goats among the simple peasants of the land, clothed in 
mean attire; then, in the golden veil of her flowing hair, 

216 



AS LA UGA 'S KNIGHT. 2 1 7 

won the love of King Ragnar Lodbrog; and at last shone 
30 brightly on the Danish throne as his glorious queen, till the 

day of her death. 

To the Knight Froda it seemed as though the gracious 

Lady Aslauga rose in life and birth before him, so that his 

calm and steadfast heart, true indeed to ladies' service, but 
35 never yet devoted to one particular female image, burst. 

forth in a clear flame of love for the fair daughter of Sigurd. 

" What matters it," thought he to himself, " that it is more 

than a hundred years since she disappeared from earth ? 

She sees so clearly into this heart of mine — and what more 
40 can a knight desire ? — wherefore she shall henceforth be my 

honored love, and shall inspire me in battle and in song." 
. And therewith he sang a lay on his new love, which ran in 

the following manner: 

u They ride over hill and dale apace 
To seek for their love the fairest face — 
They search through city and forest glade 
To find for their love the gentlest maid — 
They climb wherever a path may lead 
To seek the wisest dame for their meed. 
Ride on, ye knights ; but ye never may see 
What the light of song has shown to me ; 
Loveliest, gentlest and wisest of all, 
Bold be the deeds that her name shall recall; 
What though she ne'er bless my earthly sight? 
Yet death shall reveal her countenance bright. 
Fair world, good night ! Good day, sweet love ! 
Who seeks here in faith shall find above." 

" Such purpose may come to good," said a hollow voice 
45 near the knight ; and when he looked round, he saw the 
form of a poor peasant woman, so closely wrapped in a gray 
mantle that he could not discern any part of her counte- 
nance. She looked over his shoulder on the book, and 
said, with a deep sigh, " I know that story well ; and it fares 
50 no better with me than with the princess of whom it tells." 



2 1 8 ASLA UGA'S KNIGHT. 

Froda looked at her with astonishment. " Yes. yes," pur- 
sued she, with strange becks and nods ; " I am the descend- 
ant of the mighty Rolf, to whom the fairest castles and for- 
ests and fields of this island once belonged ; your castle and 

55 your domains, Froda, amongst others, were his. We are 
now cast down to poverty ; and because I am not so fair as 
Aslauga, there is no hope that my possessions will be 
restored to me ; and therefore I am fain to veil my poor face 
from every eye." It seemed that she shed warm tears 

60 beneath her mantle. At this Froda was greatly moved, and 
begged her, for God's sake, to let him know how he could 
help her, for that he was a descendant of the famous north- 
ern heroes of the olden time ; and, perhaps, yet something 
more than they — namely, a good Christian. " I almost 

65 think," murmured she from beneath her covering, " that 
you are that very Froda whom men call the Good, 
and the friend of the Skalds, and of whose generos- 
ity and mildness such wonderful stories are told. If it be 
so, there may be help for me. You need only give up to 

ro me the half of your fields and meadows, and I should be in 
a condition to live in some measure such a life as befits the 
descendant of the mighty Rolf." Then Froda looked 
thoughtfully on the ground ; partly because she had asked 
for so very much; partly, also, because he was considering 

75 whether she could really be descended from the powerful 
Rolf. But the veiled form said, after a pause, " I must 
have been mistaken, and you are not indeed that renowned, 
gentle-hearted Froda; for how could he have doubted so 
long about such a trifle? But I will try the utmost means. 

80 See now ! for the sake of the fair Aslauga, of whom you have 
both read and sung — for the sake of the honored daughter 
of Sigurd, grant my request ! " Then Frocla started up 
eagerly, and cried, " Let it be as you have said ! " and gave 
her his knightly hand to confirm his words. But he could 

85 not grasp the hand of the peasant woman, although her dark 



AS LA UGA'S KNIGHT. 2 1 9 

form remained close before him. A secret shudder began 
to run through his limbs, whilst suddenly a light seemed to 
shine forth from the apparition — a golden light — in which 
she became wholly wrapped ; so that he felt as though 

90 Aslauga stood before him in the flowing veil of her golden 
hair, and smiling graciously on him. Transported and daz- 
zled, he sank on his knees. When he rose up once more, 
he only saw a cloudy mist of autumn spreading over the 
meadow, fringed at its edges with lingering evening lights, 

95 and then vanishing far over the waves. The knight scarcely 
knew what had happened to him. He returned to his cham- 
ber buried in thought, and sometimes feeling sure that he 
had beheld Aslauga, sometimes, again, that some goblin had 
risen before him with deceitful tricks, mocking in spiteful 

100 wise the service which he had vowed to his dead mistress. 
But henceforth, wherever he roved, over valley or forest or 
heath, or whether he sailed upon the waves of the sea, the 
like appearances met him. 'Once he found a lute lying 
in a wood, and drove a wolf away from it ; and when sounds 

105 burst from the lute without its being touched, a fair child 
rose up from it, as of old Aslauga herself had done. At 
another time he would see goats clambering among the high- 
est cliffs by the sea-shore ; and it was a golden form who 
tended them. Then, again, a bright queen, resplendent in 

110 a dazzling bark, would seem to glide past him, and salute 
him graciously; — and if he strove to approach any of these, 
he found nothing but cloud, and mist and vapor. Of all 
this many a lay might be sung. But so much he learnt from 
them all — that the fair lady Aslauga accepted his service, 

115 and that he was now indeed and in truth become her knight. 
Meanwhile the winter had come and gone. In northern 
lands this season never fails to bring, to those who under- 
stand and love it, many an image full of beauty and mean- 
ing, with which a child of man might well be satisfied, so 

120 far as earthly happiness can satisfy, through all his time on 



220 ASLAUGA'S KNIGHT. 

earth. But when the spring came glancing forth with its 
opening buds and flowing waters, there came also bright and 
sunny tidings from the land of Germany to Fiihnen. 

There stood on the rich banks of the Maine, where it pours 

125 its waters through the fertile land of Franconia, a castle of 
almost royal magnificence, whose orphan-mistress was a 
relation of the German emperor. She was named Hilde- 
gardis ; and was acknowledged far and wide as the fairest 
of maidens. Therefore her imperial uncle wished that she 

130 should wed none but the bravest knight who could any- 
where be met with. Accordingly he followed the example 
of many a noble lord in such a case, and proclaimed a 
tournament, at which the chief prize should be the hand of 
the peerless Hildegardis, unless the victor already bore in 

135 his heart a lady wedded or betrothed to him; for the lists 
were not to be closed to any brave warrior of equal birth, 
that the contest of strength and courage might be so much 
the richer in competitors. 

Now the renowned Froda had tidings of this from his 

no German brethren-in-arms ; and he prepared himself to 
appear at. the festival. Before all things, he forged for him- 
self a splendid suit of armor ; as, indeed, he was the most 
excellent armorer of the north, far-famed as it is for skill 
in that art. He worked the helmet out of pure gold, and 

145 formed it so that it seemed to be covered with bright flowing: 
locks, which called to mind Aslauga's tresses. He also 
fashioned on the breast-plate of his armor, overlaid with 
silver, a golden image in half-relief, which represented 
Aslauga in her veil of flowing locks, that he might make 

150 known, even at the beginning of the tournament — "This 
knight, bearing the image of a lady upon his breast, fights 
not for the hand of the beautiful Hildegardis, but only for 
the joy of battle and for knightly fame." Then he took out 
of his stables a beautiful Danish steed, embarked it care- 

155 fully on board a vessel, and sailed prosperously to the oppo- 
• site shore. 



ASIA UGA'S KNIGHT. 22 I 



CHAPTER II. 



In one of those fair beech-woods which abound in the 
fertile land of Germany, he fell in with a young and court- 
eous knight of delicate form, who asked the noble northman 
to share the meal which he had invitingly spread out upon 
5 the greensward, under the shade of the pleasantest boughs. 
Whilst the two knights sat peacefully together at their 
repast they felt drawn towards each other ; and rejoiced 
when on rising from it, they observed that they were about 
to follow the same road. Thev had not come to this sfood 

10 understanding by means of many words; for the young 
knight Edwald was of a silent nature, and would sit for 
hours with a quiet smile upon his lips without opening them 
to speak. But even in that quiet smile there lay a gentle, 
winning grace ; and when from time to time a few simple 

15 words of deep meaning sprang to his lips, they seemed like 
a gift deserving of thanks. It was the same with the little 
songs which he sang ever and anon ; they were ended 
almost as soon as begun ; but in each short couplet there 
dwelt a deep and winning spirit, whether it called forth a 

20 kindly sigh or a peaceful smile. It seemed to the noble 
Froda as if a younger brother rode beside him, or even a 
tender, blooming son. They traveled thus many days 
together; and it appeared as if their path were marked out 
for them in inseparable union ; and much as they rejoiced 

25 at this, yet they looked sadly at each other whenever they 
set out afresh, or where cross-roads met, on finding that 
neither took a different direction : nay, it seemed at times 
as if a tear gathered in Edwald's downcast eye. 

It happened on a time, that at their hostelry they met an 

30 arrogant, overbearing knight, of gigantic stature and power- 
ful frame, whose speech and carriage proved him to be not 
of German but foreign birth. He appeared to come from 



222 ASLAUGA'S KNIGHT. 

the land of Bohemia. He cast a contemptuous smile on 
Froda, who, as usual, had opened the ancient book of 

35 Aslauga's history, and was attentively reading in it, "You 
must be a ghostly knight?" he said, inquiringly; and it 
appeared as if a whole train of unseemly jests were ready to 
follow. But Froda answered so firmly and seriously with a 
negative that the Bohemian stopped short suddenly; as 

40 when the beasts, after venturing to mock their king, the 
lion, are subdued to quietness by one glance of his eye. 
But not so easily was the Bohemian knight subdued ; rather 
the more did he begin to mock young Edwalcl for his deli- 
cate form and for his silence — all which he bore for some 

45 time with great patience ; but when at last the stranger used 
an unbecoming phrase, he arose, girded on his sword, and 
bowing gracefully, he said, " I thank you, Sir Knight, that 
you have given me this opportunity of proving that I am 
neither a slothful nor unpracticed knight ; for only thus can 

50 your behavior be excused, which otherwise must be deemed 
most unmannerly. Are you ready ? " 

With these words he moved towards the door ; the Bohe- 
mian knight followed, smiling scornfully ; while Froda was 
full of care for his young and slender companion, although 

55 his honor was so dear to him that he could in no way interpose. 

But it soon appeared how needless were the northman's 

fears. With equal vigor and address did Edwald assault his 

gigantic adversary, so that, to look upon, it was almost like 

one of those combats between a knight and some monster 

60 of the forest, of which ancient legends tell. The issue, too, 
was not unlike. While the Bohemian was collecting him- 
self for a decisive stroke, Edwald rushed in upon him, and, 
with the force of a wrestler, cast him to the ground. But 
he spared his conquered foe, helped him courteously to rise, 

65 and then turned to mount his own steed. Soon after, he 
and Froda left the hostelry, and once more their journey led 
them on the same path as before. 



AS LA UGA 'S KNIGHT. 223 

" From henceforth this gives me pleasure," said Froda, 
pointing with satisfaction to their common road. "I must 

to own to you, Edchen " — he had accustomed himself, in loving 
confidence, to call his young friend by that child-like 
name — " I must own to you that hitherto, when I have 
thought that you might perhaps be journeying with me to 
the tournament held in honor of the fair Hildegardis, a 

75 heaviness came over my heart. Your noble knightly spirit 
I well knew, but I feared lest the strength of your slender 
limbs might not be equal to it. Now I have learned to 
know you as a warrior who may long seek his match ; and 
God be praised if we still hold on in the same path, and 

80 welcome our earliest meeting in the lists ! " 

But Edwald looked at him sorrowfully, and said, " What 
can my skill and strength avail if they be tried against you, 
and for the greatest earthly prize, which one of us alone can 
win ? Alas ! I have long foreboded with a heavy heart the 

85 sad truth, that you also are journeying to the tournament of 
the fair Hildegardis." 

"Edchen," answered Froda, with a smile, "my gentle, 
loving youth, see you not that I already wear on my breast- 
plate the image of a liege lady ? I strive but for renown in 

90 arms, and not for your fair Hildegardis ! " 

"My fair Hildegardis!" answered Edwald, with a sigh. 
" That she is not, nor ever will be — or should she, ah ! Froda, 
it would pierce your heart. I know well the northland faith 
is deep-rooted as your rocks, and hard to dissolve as their 

95 summits of snow ; but let no man think that he can look 
unscathed into the eyes of Hildegardis. Has not she, the 
haughty, the too haughty maiden, so bewitched my tranquil, 
lowly mind, that I forget the gulf which lies between us, and 
still pursue her, and would rather perish than renounce the 

too daring hope to win that eagle spirit for my own ? " 

" I will help you to it, Edchen," answered Froda, smiling 
still. " Would that I knew how this all-conquering lady 



2 24 A SLA UGA 9 S KNIGH T. 

looks ! She must resemble the Valkyrien of our heathen 
forefathers, since so many mighty warriors are overcome by 

105 her." 

Edwald solemnly drew forth a picture from beneath his 
breastplate, and held it before him. Fixed, and as if 
enchanted, Froda gazed upon it with glowing cheeks and 
sparkling eyes; the smile passed away from his countenance, 

no as the sunlight fades away from the meadows before the 
coming darkness of the storm. 

"See you not now, my noble comrade," whispered Edwald, 
"that for one of us two, or perhaps for both, the joy of life 
is gone? " 

115 "Not yet," replied Froda, with a powerful effort; "but 
hide your magic picture, and let us rest beneath this shade. 
You must be somewhat spent with your late encounter, 
and a strange weariness oppresses me with leaden weight." 
They dismounted from their steeds, and stretched themselves 

120 upon the ground. 

The noble Froda had no thought of sleep ; but he wished 
to be undisturbed whilst he wrestled strongly with himself, 
and strove, if it might be, to drive from his mind that image 
of fearful beauty. It seemed as if this new influence had 

125 already become a part of his very life, and at last a restless, 
dreamy sleep did indeed overshadow the exhausted warrior. 
He fancied himself engaged in combat with many knights, 
whilst Hildegardis looked on smiling from a richly-adorned 
balcony ; and just as he thought he had gained the victory 

130 the bleeding Edwald lay groaning beneath his horse's feet. 
Then again it seemed as if Hildegardis stood by his side in 
a church, and they were about to receive the marriage-bless- 
ing. He knew well that this was not right, and the " yes," 
which he was to utter, he pressed back with resolute effort 

135 into his heart, and forthwith his eyes were moistened with 
burning tears. From yet stranger and more bewildering 
visions the voice of Edwald at last awoke him. He raised 



" ASLAUGA'S KNIGHT. 225 

himself up, and heard his young companion saying courte- 
ously, as he looked toward a neighboring thicket, "Only 

140 return, noble maiden ; I will surely help you if I can; and I 

had no wish to scare you away, but that the slumbers of my 

brother in arms might not be disturbed by you." A 

golden gleam shone through the branches as it vanished. 

" For heaven's sake, my faithful comrade," cried Froda, 

145 " to whom are you speaking, and who has been here by 
me ? " 

" I cannot myself rightly understand," said Edwald. 
"Hardly had you dropped asleep when a figure came forth 
from the forest, closely wrapped in a dark mantle. At first 

150 I took her for a peasant. She seated herself at your head ; 
and though I could see nothing of her countenance, I could 
well observe that she was sorely troubled, and even shedding 
tears. I made signs to her to depart, lest she should disturb 
your sleep; and would have offered her a piece of gold, 

155 supposing that poverty must be the cause of her deep dis- 
tress. But my hand seemed powerless, and a shudder 
passed through me, as if I had entertained such a purpose 
towards a queen. Immediately glittering locks of gold 
waved here and there between the folds of her close- 

160 wrapped mantle, and the thicket began almost to shine in 
the light which they shed. ' Poor youth,' said she then, 
'you love truly, and can well understand how a lofty woman's 
heart burns in keenest sorrow when a noble knight, who 
vowed himself to be her own, withdraws his heart, and, like 

165 a weak bondman, is led away to meaner hopes/ Hereupon 
she arose, and, sighing, disappeared in yonder thicket. It 
almost seemed to me, Froda, as though she uttered your 
name." 

"Yes, it was I she named," answered Froda; "and not in 

170 vain she named me. Aslauga, thy knight comes, and enters 
the lists, and all for thee and thy reward alone ! At the same 
time, my Edchen, we will win for you your haughty bride." 

IS 



226 ASLAUGA'S KNIGHT. 

With this he sprang upon his steed, full of the proud joy of 
former times ; and when the magic of Hildegardis' beauty, 
dazzling and bewildering, would rise up before him, he said, 
smiling, " Aslauga ! " and the sun of his inner life shone forth 
again cloudless and serene. 



CHAPTER III. 

From a balcony of her castle on the Maine, Hildegardis 
was wont to refresh herself in the cool of the evening by 
gazing on the rich landscape below, but gazing more eagerly 
on the glitter of arms, which often came in sight from many 

5 a distant road; for knights were approaching singly, or with 
a train of followers, all eager to prove their courage and their 
strength in striving for the high prize of the tournament. 
She was in truth a proud and high-minded maiden — perhaps 
more so than became even her dazzling beauty and her 

10 princely rank. As she now gazed with a proud smile on the 
glittering roads a damsel of her train began the following 
lay : — 

" The joyous song of birds in spring 
Upon the wing 
Doth echo far through wood and dell, 

And freely tell 
Their treasures sweet of love and mirth, 
Too gladsome for this lowly earth. 

" The gentle breath of flowers in May, 

O'er meadows gay, 
Doth fill the pure and balmy air 

With perfume rare; 
Still floating round each slender form, 
Though scorched by sun or torn by storm. 



ASLAUGA'S KNIGHT. 227 

u But every high and glorious aim, 

And the pure flame 
That deep abiding in my heart 

Can ne'er depart, 
Too lofty for my falt'ring tongue, 
Must die with me, unknown, unsung." 

" Wherefore do you sing that song, and at this moment ? " 
Said Hildegardis, striving to appear scornful and proud, 

15 though a deep and secret sadness was plainly enough seen 
to overshadow her countenance. " It came into my head 
unawares," replied the damsel, " as I looked upon the road 
by which the gentle Edwald with his pleasant lays first 
approached us ; for it was from him I learnt it. But seems 

20 it not to you, my gracious lady, and to you too, my compan- 
ions, as if Edwald himself were again riding that way towards 
the castle ? " " Dreamer ! " said Hildegardis, scornfully — 
and yet could not for some space withdraw her eyes from 
the knight, till at length, with an effort, she turned them on 

25 Froda, who rode beside him saying : " Yes, truly, that knight 
is Edwald ; but what can you find to notice in the meek- 
spirited, silent boy? Here, fix your eyes, my maidens, on 
this majestic figure, if you would behold a knight indeed." 
She was silent. A voice within her, as though of prophecy, 

30 said, " Now the victor of the tournament rides into the court- 
yard ; " and she, who had never feared the presence of any 
human being, now felt humbled, and almost painfully awed, 
when she beheld the northern knight. 

At the evening meal the two newly arrived knights were 

35 placed opposite to the royal Hildegardis. As Froda, after 
the northern fashion, remained in full armor, the golden 
image of Aslauga gleamed from his silver breast-plate full 
before the eyes of the haughty lady. She smiled scornfully, 
as if conscious that it depended on her will to drive that 

40 image from the breast and from the heart of the stranger- 
knight. Then suddenly a clear golden light passed through 



228 AS LA UGA 'S KNIGHT, 

the hall, so that Hildegardis said, " O, the keen lightning ! " 
and covered her eyes with both her hands. But Froda 
looked into the dazzling radiance with a joyful gaze of wel- 

45 come. At this Hildegardis feared him yet more, though at 
the same time she thought, " This loftiest and most mysteri- 
ous of men must be born for me alone." Yet could she not 
forbear, almost against her will, to look from time to time in 
friendly tenderness on the poor Edwald, who sat there silent, 

50 and with a sweet smile seemed to pity and to mock his own 
suffering and his own vain hopes. 

When the two knights were alone in their sleeping cham- 
ber Edwald looked for a long time in silence into the dewy, 
balmy night. Then he sang to his lute : 



" A hero wise and brave, 
A lowly, tender youth, 
Are wandering through the land 
In steadfast love and truth. 

" The hero, by his deeds, 

Both bliss and fame had won, 
And still, with heartfelt joy, 
The faithful child looked on." 

55 But Froda took the lute from his hands, and said, " No, 
Edchen, I will teach you another song ; listen ! — 

" ' There's a gleam in the hall, and like morning's light 
Hath shone upon all her presence bright. 
Suitors watch as she passes by — 

She may gladden their hearts by one glance of her eye : 
But coldly she gazeth upon the throng, 
And they that have sought her may seek her long. 
She turns her away from the richly clad knight, 
She heeds not the words of the learned wight ; 
The prince is before her in all his pride,. 
But other the visions around her that glide. 



A SLA UGA 'S KNIGHT. 229 

Then tell me, in all the wide world's space, 

Who may e'er win that lady's grace ? 

In sorrowful love there sits apart 

The gentle squire who hath her heart ; 

They all are deceived by fancies vain, 

And he knows it not who the prize shall gain.'" 



Edwald thrilled. "As God wills," said he, softly to him- 
self. " But I cannot understand how such a thing could be." 
" As God wills," repeated Froda. The two friends embraced 

60 each other, and soon after fell into a peaceful slumber. 

Some days afterwards, Froda sat in. a secluded bower of 
the castle garden, and was reading in the ancient book of 
his lovely mistress Aslauga. It happened at that very time 
that Hildegardis passed by. She stood still, and said, 

65 thoughtfully, " Strange union that you are of knight and 
sage, how comes it that you bring forth so little out of the 
deep treasures of your knowledge? And yet I think you 
must have many a choice history at your command, even 
such as that which now lies open before you ; for I see rich 

70 and bright pictures of knights and ladies painted amongst 
the letters." 

" It is, indeed, the most surpassing and enchanting history 
in all the world," said Froda; " but you have neither 
patience nor thoughtfulness to listen to our wonderful 

75 legends of the north." 

"Why think you so?" answered Hildegardis, with that 
pride which she rejoiced to display towards Froda, when 
she could find courage to do so ; and, placing herself on a 
stone seat opposite, she commanded him at once to read 

so something to her out of that fair book. 

Froda began, and in the very effort which he made to 
change the old heroic speech of Iceland into the German 
tongue, his heart and mind were stirred more fervently and 
solemnly. As he looked up from time to time, he beheld 



23O ASIA UGA'S KNIGHT. 

85 the countenance of Hildegardis beaming in ever-growing 

beauty with joy, wonder and interest; and the thought 

passed through his mind whether this could indeed be his 

destined bride, to whom Aslauga herself was guiding him. 

Then suddenly the characters became strangely confused ; 

90 it seemed as if the pictures began to move, so that he was 
obliged to stop. While he fixed his eyes with a strong effort 
upon the book, endeavoring to drive away this strange con- 
fusion, he heard a well-known, sweetly solemn voice, which 
said, " Leave a little space for me, fair lady. The history 

95 which that knight is reading to you relates to me, and I hear 
it gladly." 

Before the eyes of Froda, as he raised them from his 
book, sat Aslauga in all the glory of her flowing golden 
locks beside Hildegardis, on the seat. With tears of 

100 affright in her eyes, the maiden sank back and fainted. 
Solemnly, yet graciously, Aslauga warned her knight with a 
motion of her fair right hand, and vanished. 

"What have I done to you?" said Hildegardis, when 
recovered from her swoon by his care, " what have I done 

105 to you, evil-minded knight, that you call up your northern 
spectres before me, and well nigh destroy me through terror 
of your magic arts?" "Lady," answered Froda, "may 
God help me, as I have not called hither the wondrous lady 
who but now appeared to us. But now her will is known to 

110 me,. and I commend you to God's keeping." 

With that he walked thoughtfully out of the bower. Hil- 
degardis fled in terror from the gloomy shade, and, rushing 
out on the opposite side, reached a fair open grass-plot, 
where Edwald, in the soft glow of twilight, was gathering 

115 flowers, and, meeting her with a courteous smile, offered 
her a nosegay of narcissus and pansies. 



ASLAUGA'S KNIGHT. ' 23 1 



CHAPTER IV. 

At length the day fixed for the tournament arrived, and 
a distinguished noble, appointed by the German emperor, 
arranged all things in the most magnificent and sumptuous 
guise for the solemn festival. The field of combat opened 

5 wide, and fair and level, thickly strewn with the finest sand, 
so that both man and horse might find sure footing; and, 
like a pure field of snow, it shone forth from the midst of 
the flowery plain. Rich hangings of silk from Arabia, 
curiously embroidered with Indian gold, adorned with their 

10 various colors the lists enclosing the space, and hung from 
the lofty galleries which had been erected for the ladies and 
the nobles who were to behold the combat. At the upper end, 
under a canopy of majestic arches, richly wrought in gold, 
was the place of the Lady Hildegardis. Green wTeaths and 

15 garlands waved gracefully between the glittering pillars in 
the soft breezes of July. And with impatient eyes, the mul- 
titude, who crowded beyond the lists, gazed upwards, 
expecting the appearance of the fairest maiden of Germany, 
and were only at times drawn to another part by the stately 

20 approach of the combatants. Oh, how many a bright suit 
of armor, how many a silken richly embroidered mantle, how 
many a lofty waving plume was here to be seen ! The 
splendid troop of knights moved within the lists, greeting 
and conversing with each other, as a bed of flowers stirred 

25 by a breath of wind; but the flower-stems had grown to 
lofty trees, the yellow and white flower leaves had changed 
to gold and silver, and the dew-drops to pearls and 
diamonds. For whatever was most fair and costly, most 
varied and full of meaning, had these noble knights col- 

30 lected in honor of this clay. Many an eye was turned on 
Froda, who, without scarf, plume or mantle, with his shining 
silver breastplate, on which appeared the golden image of 



232' A SLA UGA "S KNIGHT. 

Aslauga, and with his well wrought helmet of golden locks, 
shone, in the midst of the crowd, like polished brass. Others 

35 again there were, who took pleasure in looking at the 
young Edwald ; his whole armor was covered by a mantle 
of white silk, embroidered in azure and silver, as his whole 
helmet was concealed by a waving plume of white feathers. 
He was arrayed with almost feminine elegance, and yet the 

40 conscious power with which he controlled his fiery, snow- 
white steed made known the victorious strength and manli- 
ness of the warlike stripling. 

In strange contrast appeared the tall and almost gigantic 
figure of a knight, clothed in a mantle of black, glossy bear- 

45 skin, bordered with costly fur, but without any ornament of 
shining metal. His very helmet was covered with dark bear- 
skin, and, instead of plumes, a mass of blood-red horsehair 
hung, like a flowing mane, profusely on every side. Well 
did Froda and Edwald remember that dark knight, for he 

50 was the uncourteous guest of the hostelry. He also seemed 
to remark the two knights, -for he turned his unruly steed 
suddenly round, forced his way through the crowd of war- 
riors, and, after he had spoken over the enclosure to a hid- 
eous bronze-colored woman, sprang with a wild leap across 

55 the lists, and with the speed of an arrow, vanished out of 
sight. The old woman looked after him with a friendly nod. 
The assembled people laughed, as at a strange masquing 
device ; but Edwald and Froda had their own almost shud- 
dering thoughts concerning it, which, however, neither 

60 imparted to the other. 

The kettle-drums rolled, the trumpets sounded, and, led by 
the aged duke, Hildegardis advanced, richly appareled, but 
more dazzling through the brightness of her own beauty. 
She stepped forward beneath the arches of the golden 

65 bower, and bowed to the assembly. The knights bent low, 
and the feeling rushed into many a heart, " There is no 
man on earth who can deserve a bride so queenly." When 



A SLA UGA'S KNIGHT. 233 

Froda bowed his head, it seemed to him as if the golden 
radiance of Aslanga's tresses floated before his sight; and 

70 his spirit rose in joy and pride that his lady held him worthy 
to be so often reminded of her. 

And now the tournament began. At first the knights 
strove with blunted swords and battle-axes ; then they ran 
their course with lances, man to man ; but at last they 

75 divided into two equal parties, and a general assault began, 
in which every one was allowed to use, at his own will, 
either sword or lance. Froda and Edwald equally sur- 
passed their antagonists, as (measuring each his own 
strength and that of his friend) they had foreseen. And 

80 now it must be decided by a single combat, with lances, to 
whom the highest prize of victory should belong. Before 
this trial began, they rode slowly together into the middle 
of the course, and consulted where each should take his 
place. " Keep you your guiding star still before your sight," 

85 said Froda with a smile ; " the like gracious help will not be 
wanting to me." Edwald looked round, astonished, for the 
lady of whom his friend seemed to speak, but Froda went 
on, " I have done wrong in hiding aught from you, but after 
the tournament you shall know all. Now lay aside all need- 

90 less thoughts of wonder, dear Edchen, and sit firm in your 
saddle, for I warn you that I shall run this course with all 
my might. Not my honor alone is at stake, but the far 
higher honor of my lady." 

" So also do I purpose to demean myself," said Edwald, 

95 with a friendly smile. They shook each other by the hand, 
and rode to their places. 

Amidst the sound of trumpets, they met again, running 
their course with lightning speed ; the lances shivered with 
a crash, the horses staggered, the knights, firm in their sad- 

100 dies, pulled them up and rode back to their places. But as 
they prepared for another course, Edwald's white steed 
snorted in wild affright, and Froda's powerful chestnut 
reared up foaming. 



2 34 A SLA UGA 'S KNIGHT. 

It was plain that the two noble animals shrunk from a 

105 second hard encounter, but their riders held them fast with 
spur and bit, and, firm and obedient, they again dashed for- 
ward at the second call of the trumpet. Edwald, who by 
one deep, ardent gaze on the beauty of his mistress had 
stamped it afresh on his soul, cried aloud at the moment of 

no encounter, u Hildegardis ! " and so mightily did his lance 
strike his valiant adversary, that Froda sank backwards on 
his steed, with difficulty keeping his seat in his saddle, or 
holding firm in his stirrups, whilst Edwald flew by 
unshaken, lowered his spear to salute Hildegardis as he 

lis passed her bower, and then, amidst the loud applause of the 
multitude, rushed to his place, ready for the third course. 
And, ah ! Hildegardis herself, overcome by surprise, had 
greeted him with a blush and a look of kindness ; it seemed to 
him as if the overwhelming joy of victory were already gained. 

120 But it was not so, for the valiant Froda, burning with noble 
shame, had again tamed his affrighted steed, and chastising 
him sharply with the spur for his share in this mischance, 
said in low voice, " Beautiful and beloved lady, show thy- 
self to me — the honor of thy name is at stake.'' To every 

125 other eye it seemed as if a golden, rosy-tinted summer's 
cloud was passing over the deep blue sky, but Froda beheld 
the heavenly countenance of his lady, felt the waving of her 
golden tresses, and cried, " Aslauga ! " The two rushed 
together, and Edwald was hurled from his saddle far upon 

130 the dusty plain. 

Froda remained for a time motionless, according to the 
laws of chivalry, as though waiting to see whether any one 
would dispute his victory, and appearing on his mailed 
steed like some lofty statue of brass. All around stood the 

135 multitude in silent wonderment. When at length they 
burst forth into shouts of triumph, he beckoned 
earnestly with his hand, and all were again silent. He then 
sprang lightly from his saddle, and hastened to the spot 



A SLA UGA >S KNIGHT, 235 

where the fallen Edwald was striving to rise. He pressed 

140 closely to his breast, led his snow-white steed towards him, 
and would not be denied holding the stirrups of the youth 
whilst he mounted. Then he bestrode his own steed, and 
rode by Edwald's side towards the golden bower of Hilde- 
gardis, where, with lowered spear and open visor, he thus 

145 spoke : " Fairest of all living ladies, I bring you here 
Edwald, your knightly bridegroom, before whose lance and 
sword all the knights of this tournament have fallen away, 
I only excepted, who can make no claim to the choicest 
prize of victory, since I, as the image on my breastplate 

150 may show, already serve another mistress," 

The duke was even now advancing towards the two war- 
riors, to lead them into the golden bower, but Hildegardis 
restrained him with a look of displeasure, saying immedi- 
ately, while her cheeks glowed with anger, " Then you seem, 

155 Sir Froda, the Danish knight, to serve your lady ill ; for 
even now you openly styled me the fairest of living ladies." 
"That did I," answered Froda, bending courteously, 
" because my fair mistress belongs to the dead." 

A slight shudder passed at these words through the 

160 assembly, and through the heart of Hildegardis ; but soon 
the anger of the maiden blazed forth again, and the more 
because the most wonderful and excellent knight she knew 
had scorned her for the sake of a dead mistress. 

" I make known to all," she said, with solemn earnest- 

105 ness, " that according to the just decree of my imperial 
uncle, this hand can never belong to a vanquished knight, 
however noble and honorable he may otherwise have 
proved himself. As the conqueror of this tournament, 
therefore, is bound to another service, this combat concerns 

lro me not ; and I depart hence as I came, a free and unbe- 
trothed maiden." 

The duke seemed about to reply, but she turned haugh- 
tily away and left the bower. Suddenly a gust of wind 



236 AS LA UGA'S KNIGHT. 

shook the green wreaths and garlands, and they fell un- 
175 twined and rustling behind her. In this, the people, dis- 
pleased with the pride of Hildegardis, thought they beheld 
an omen of punishment, and with jeering words noticed it 
as they departed. 



CHAPTER V. 

The two knights had returned to their apartments in deep 
silence. When they arrived there, Edwald caused himself 
to be disarmed, and laid every piece of his fair shining 
armor together with a kind of tender care, almost as if he 
5 were burying the corpse of a beloved friend. Then he 
beckoned to his squires to leave the chamber, took his lute 
on his arm, and sang the following song to its notes : — 

" Bury them, bury them out of sight, 
For hope and fame are fled ; 
And peaceful resting and quiet night 
Are all now left for the dead." 

"You will stir up my anger against your lute," said Froda. 
" You had accustomed it to more joyful songs than this. It 

10 is too good for a passing-bell, and you too good to toll it. 
I tell you yet, my young hero, all will end gloriously." 

Edwald looked a while with wonder in his face, and he 
answered kindly : " Beloved Froda, if it displeases you, I 
will surely sing no more." But at the same time he struck a 

15 few sad chords, which sounded infinitely sweet and tender. 
Then the northern knight, much moved, clasped him in his 
arms, and said : " Dear Edchen, sing and say and do what- 
ever pleases you; it shall ever rejoice me. But you may 
well believe me, for I speak not this without a spirit of 

20 presage — your sorrow shall change, whether to death or life 
I know not, but great and overpowering joy awaits you." 



A SLA UGA'S KNIGHT. 237 

Edwald rose firmly and cheerfully from his seat, seized his 
companion's arm with a strong grasp, and walked forth with 
him through the blooming alleys of the garden into the balmy 

25 air. 

At that very hour an aged woman, muffled in many a cover- 
ing, was led secretly to the apartment of the Lady Hildegardis. 
The appearance of the dark-complexioned stranger was mys- 
terious, and she had gathered round her for some time, by 

30 many feats of jugglery, a part of the multitude returning 
home from the tournament, but had dispersed them at last 
in wild affright. Before this happened, the tire-woman of 
Hildegardis had hastened to her mistress, to entertain her 
with an account of the rare and pleasant feats of the bronze- 

35 colored woman. The maidens in attendance, seeing their 
lady deeply moved, and wishing to banish her melancholy, 
bade the tire-woman bring the old stranger hither. Hilde- 
gardis forbade it not, hoping that she should thus divert the 
attention of her maidens, while she gave herself up mor^ 

40 deeply and earnestly to the varying imaginations which 
flitted through her mind. 

The messenger found the place already deserted, and the 
strange old woman, alone in the midst, laughing immoder- 
ately. When questioned by her, she did not deny that she 

45 had all at once taken the form of a monstrous owl, announc- 
ing to the spectators in a screeching voice that she was the 
Devil — and that every one upon this rushed screaming 
home. 

The tire-woman trembled at the fearful jest, but durst not 

50 return to ask again the pleasure of Hildegardis, whose dis- 
contented mood she had already remarked. She gave strict 
charge to the old woman, with many a threat and promise, to 
demean herself discreetly in the castle ; after which she 
brought her in by the most secret way, that none of those 

55 whom she had terrified might see her enter. 

The aged crone now stood before Hildegardis, and winked 



238 A SLA UGA >S KNIGHT. 

to her, in the midst of her low and humble salutation, in a 
strangely familiar manner, as though there were some secret 
between them. The lady felt an involuntary shudder, and 

60 could not withdraw her gaze from the features of that hide- 
ous countenance, hateful as it was to her. The curiosity 
which had led the rest to desire a sight of the strange woman 
was by no means gratified, for she performed none but the 
most common tricks of jugglery, and related only well-known 

65 tales, so that the tire-woman felt weary and indifferent ; and, 
ashamed of having brought the stranger, she stole away 
unnoticed. Several other maidens followed her example, 
and, as these withdrew, the old crone twisted her mouth into, 
a smile, and repeated the same hideous confidential wink 

70 towards the lady. Hildegardis could not understand what 
attracted her in the jests and tales of the bronze-colored 
woman ; but so it was, that in her whole life she had never 
bestowed such attention on the words of any one. Still the 
old woman went on and on, and already the night looked 

75 dark without the windows, but the attendants who still 
remained with Hildegardis had sunk into a deep sleep, 
and had lighted none of the wax tapers in the apart- 
ment. 

Then, in the dusky gloom, the dark old crone rose from 

80 the low seat on which she had been sitting, as if she now 
felt herself well at ease, advanced toward Hildegardis, who 
sat as if spell-bound with terror, placed herself beside her on 
the purple couch, and embracing her in her long dry arms 
with a hateful caress, whispered a few words in her ear. It 

85 seemed to the lady as if she uttered the names of Froda and 
Edwald, and from them came the sound of a flute, which, 
clear and silvery as were its tones, seemed to lull her into a 
trance. She could indeed move her limbs, but only to follow 
those sounds, which, like a silver network, floated round the 

90 hideous form of the old woman. She moved from the cham- 
ber, and Hildegardis followed her through all her slumbering 



A SLA UGA 'S KNIGHT. 239 

maidens, still singing softly as she went, " Ye maidens, ye 
maidens, I wander by night." 

Without the castle, accompanied by squire and groom, 

95 stood the gigantic Bohemian warrior : he laid on the shoulders 
of the crone a bag of gold so heavy that she sank half whim- 
pering, half laughing, on the ground ; then lifted the 
entranced Hildegardis on his steed, and galloped with her 
silently into the ever-deepening gloom of night. 

100 "All ye noble lords and knights, who yesterday contended 
gallantly for the prize of victory and the hand of the peerless 
Hildegardis, arise, arise! saddle your steeds, and to the 
rescue ! The peerless Hildegardis is carried away ! " 

Thus proclaimed many a herald through castle and town 

105 in the bright red dawn of the following day ; and on all sides 
rose the dust from the tread of knights and noble squires 
along those roads by which so lately, in the evening twilight, 
Hildegardis in proud repose had gazed on her approaching 
suitors. 

110 Two of them, well known to us, remained inseparably 
together, but they knew as little as the others whether they 
had taken the right direction, for how and when the adored 
lady could have disappeared from her apartments was still to 
the whole castle a fearful and mysterious secret. 

115 Edwald and Froda rode as long as the sun moved over 
their heads, unwearied as he ; and now when he sank in the 
waves of the river, they thought to win the race from him, 
and still spurred on their jaded steeds. But the noble ani- 
mals staggered and panted, and the knights were constrained 

120 to grant them some little refreshment in a grassy meadow. 
Secure of bringing them back at their first call, their masters 
removed both bit and curb, that they might be refreshed 
with the green pasture, and with the deep blue waters of the 
Maine, while they themselves reposed under the shade of a 

125 neighboring thicket of alders. 

And deep in the cool, dark shade, there shone, as it were, 



240 ASIA UGA 'S KNIGHT. 

a mild but clear sparkling light, and checked the speech of 
Froda, who at that moment was beginning to tell his friend 
the tale of his knightly service to his sovereign lady, which 

130 had been delayed, hitherto, first by Edwald's sadness, and 
then by the haste of their journey. Ah, well did Froda know 
that lovely golden light! "Let us follow it, Edchen," said 
he in a low tone, " and leave the horses a while to their pas- 
ture." Edwald in silence followed his companion's advice. 

135 A secret voice, half sweet, half fearful, seemed to tell him 
that here was the path, the only right path to Hildegardis. 
Once only he said in astonishment, " Never before have I 
seen the evening glow shine on the leaves so brightly." 
Froda shook his head with a smile, and they pursued in 

140 silence their unknown track. 

When they came forth on the other side of the alder- 
thicket upon the bank of the Maine, which almost wound 
round it, Edwald saw well that another glow than that of 
evening was shining on them, for dark clouds of night already 

145 covered the heavens, and the guiding light stood fixed on the 
shore of the river. It lit up the waves, so that they could 
see a high woody island in the midst of the stream, and a 
boat on the hither side of the shore fast bound to a stake. 
But on approaching, the knights saw much more ; a troop of 

150 horsemen of strange and foreign appearance were all asleep, 
and in the midst of them, slumbering on cushions, a female 
form in white garments. 

" Hildegardis ! " murmured Edwald to himself, with a 
smile, and at the same time he drew his sword in readiness 

155 for the combat as soon as the robbers should awake, and 
beckoned to Froda to raise the sleeping lady, and convey 
her to a place of safety. But at this moment something like 
an owl passed whizzing over the dark squadron, and they 
all started up with clattering arms and hideous outcries. A 

160 wild, unequal combat arose in the darkness of night, for that 
beaming light had disappeared. Froda and Edwald were 



A SLA UGA 9 S KNIGHT. 24 1 

driven asunder, and only at a distance heard each other's 

mighty war-cry. Hildegardis, startled from her magic sleep, 

uncertain whether she were waking or dreaming, fled bewild- 

165 ered and weeping into the deep shades of the alder-thicket. 



CHAPTER VI. 

Froda felt his arm grow weary, and the warm blood was 
flowing from two wounds in his shoulder ; he wished so to 
lie down in death that he might rise up with honor from his 
bloody grave to the exalted lady whom he served. He cast 
5 his shield behind him, grasped his sword-hilt with both 
hands, and rushed wildly, with a loud war-cry, upon the 
affrighted foe. Instantly he heard some voices cry, " It is 
the rage of the northern heroes which has come upon him." 
And the whole troop were scattered in dismay, while the ex- 
10 hausted knight remained wounded and alone in the dark- 
ness. 

Then the golden hair of Aslauga gleamed once more in 
the alder-shade ; and Froda said, leaning, through weariness, 
on his sword, " I think not that I am wounded to death ; 
15 but whenever that time shall come, O beloved lady, wilt 
thou not indeed appear to me in all thy loveliness and bright- 
ness ? " A soft " Yes " breathed against his cheek, and the 
golden light vanished. 

But now Hildegardis came forth from the thicket, half 
20 fainting with terror, and said feebly, " Within is the fair and 
frightful spectre of the north — without is the battle. Oh, 
merciful heaven ! whither shall I go ? " 

Then Froda approached to soothe the affrighted one, to 

speak some words of comfort to her, and to inquire after 

25 Edwald ; but wild shouts and the rattling of armor 

announced the return of the Bohemian warriors. With 

haste Froda led the maiden to the boat, pushed off from the 

16 



242 A SLA UGA'S KNIGHT. 

shore, and rowed her with the last effort of his failing 
strength toward the island which he had observed in the 

30 midst of the stream. But the pursuers had already kindled 
torches, and waved them sparkling here and there. By this 
light they soon discovered the boat ; they saw that the 
dreaded Danish knight was bleeding, and gained fresh cour- 
age for their pursuit. Hardly had Froda pushed the boat 

35 to the shore of the island, before he perceived a Bohemian 
on the other side in another skiff, and soon afterwards the 
greater number of the enemy embarked to row towards the 
island. "To the wood, fair maiden," he whispered as soon 
as he had landed Hildegardis on the shore ; " there conceal 

40 yourself, whilst I endeavor to prevent the landing of the 
robbers." But Hildegardis, clinging to his arm, whispered 
again, " Do I not see that you are pale and bleeding? and 
would you have me expire with terror in the dark and lonely 
clefts of this rock ? Ah! and if your northern gold-haired 

45 spectre were to appear again and seat herself beside me ! 
Think you that I do not see her there now, shining through 
the thicket ! " " She shines ! " echoed Froda and new 
strength and hope ran through every vein. He climbed the 
hill, following the gracious gleam ; and Hildegardis, though 

50 trembling at the sight, went readily with her companion, 
saying only from time to time, in a low voice, " Ah, Sir 
Knight ! — my noble, wondrous knight — leave me not here 
alone ; that would be my death." The knight soothing her 
courteously, stepped ever onwards through the darkness of 

55 dell and forest, for already he heard the sound of the Bohe- 
mians landing on the shore of the island. Suddenly he 
stood before a cave thick-covered wkh underwood, and the 
gleam disappeared. " Here then," he whispered, and en- 
deavoring to hold the branches asunder. For a moment she 

co paused and said, "If you should but let the branches close 
again behind me, and I were to remain alone with spectres 
in this cave ! But. Froda. you will surely follow me — a 



ASLAUGA'S KNIGHT. 243 

trembling, hunted child as I am ? Will you not ? " With- 
out more misgivings she passed through the branches, and 

65 the knight, who would willingly have remained without as a 
guard, followed her. Earnestly he listened through the 
stillness of the night, whilst Hildegardis hardly dared to 
draw her breath. Then was heard the tramp of an armed 
man, coming ever nearer and nearer, and now close to the 

ro entrance of the cave. In vain did Froda strive to free him- 
self from the trembling maiden. Already the branches 
before the entrance were cracking and breaking, and Froda 
sighed deeply. " Must I, then, fall like a lurking fugitive, 
entangled in a woman's garments ? It is a base death to die. 

75 But can I cast this half-fainting creature away from me on 
the dark, hard earth, perhaps into some deep abyss ? Come, 
then, what will, thou, Lady Aslauga, knowest that I die an 
honorable death ! " 

" Frocla ! Hildegardis ! " breathed a gentle, well-known 

so voice at the entrance, and, recognizing Edwald, Frocla bore 
the lady towards him into the starlight, saying, " She will die 
of terror in our sight in this deep cavern. Is the foe near at 
hand ? " " Most of them lie lifeless on the shore, or swim 
bleeding through the waves," said Edwald. " Set your 

85 mind at rest, and repose yourself. Are you wounded, 
beloved Frocla? " He gave this short account to his aston- 
ished companions — how, in the darkness, he had mixed 
with the Bohemians and pressed into the skiff, and that it 
had been easy to him on landing to disperse the robbers en- 

90 tirely, who supposed that they were attacked by one of their 
own crew, and thought themselves bewitched. " They be- 
gan at last to fall on one another " — so he ended his history — 
" and we have only now to wait for the morning to conduct 
the lady home, for those who are wandering about of that 

95 owl-squadron will doubtless hide themselves from the eye of 
day." While speaking, he had skillfully and carefully ar- 
ranged a couch of twigs and moss for Hildegardis, and 



244 A SLA UGA \9 KNIGH T. 

when the wearied one, after uttering some gentle words of 
gratitude, had sunk into a slumber, he began, as well as the 

100 darkness would allow, to bind up the wounds of his friend. 
During this anxious task, while the dark boughs of the trees 
murmured over their heads, and the rippling of the stream 
was heard from afar, Froda, in a low voice, made known to 
his brother-in-arms to the service of what lady he was 

105 bound. Edwald listened with deep attention, but at last he 
said tenderly, " Trust me, the noble Princess Aslauga will 
not resent it, if you pledge yourself to this earthly beauty in 
faithful love. Ah ! Even now doubtless you are shining in 
the dreams of Hildegardis, richly-gifted and happy knight ! 

no I will not stand in your way with my vain wishes ; I see now 
clearly that she can never, never love me. Therefore I 
will this very day hasten to the war which so many valiant 
knights of Germany are waging in the heathen land of Prus- 
sia, and the black cross, which distinguishes them for 

115 warriors of the Church, I will lay as the best balm on my 
throbbing heart. Take, then, dear Froda, that fair hand 
which you have won in battle, and live henceforth a life of 
surpassing happiness and joy." 

" Edwald," said Froda, gravely, " this is the first time 

120 that I ever heard one word from your lips which a true 
knight could not fulfill. Do as it pleases you towards the 
fair and haughty Hildegardis, but Aslauga remains my 
mistress ever, and no other do I desire in life or death." 
The youth was startled by these stern words, and made no 

125 reply. Both, without saying more to each other, watched 
through the night in solemn thought. 

The next morning, when the rising sun shone brightly 
over the flowery plains around the Castle of Hildegardis, 
the watchman on the tower blew a joyful blast from his 

130 horn, for his keen eye had distinguished far in the distance 
his fair lady, who was riding from the forest between her 
two deliverers ; and from castle, town, and hamlet, came 



A SLA UGA >S KNIGHT. 245 

forth many a rejoicing train to assure themselves with their 
own eyes of the happy news. 

135 Hildegardis turned to Edwald with eyes sparkling 
through tears, and said, "Were it not for you, young knight, 
they might have sought long and vainly before they found 
the lost maiden or the noble Froda, who would now be lying 
in that dark cavern a bleeding and lifeless corpse.'' Edwald 

140 bowed lowly in reply, but persevered in his wonted silence. 
It even seemed as though an unusual grief restrained the 
smile wmich erewhile answered so readily, in child-like 
sweetness, to every friendly word. 

The noble guardian of Hildegardis had, in the overflow- 

145 ing joy of his heart, prepared a sumptuous banquet, and in- 
vited all the knights and ladies present to attend it. Whilst 
Froda and Edwald, in all the brightness of their glory, were 
ascending the steps in the train of their rescued lady, 
Edwald said to his friend, " Noble, steadfast knight, you 

150 can never love me more ! " And as Froda looked in aston- 
ishment, he continued — " Thus it is when children presume 
to counsel heroes, however well they may mean it. Now 
have I offended grievously against you, and yet more 
against the noble Lady Aslauga." " Because you would 

155 have plucked every flower of your own garden to gladden 
me with them ?" said Froda. " No ; you are my gentle 
brother-in-arms now, as ' heretofore, dear Edchen, and are 
perhaps become yet dearer to me." 

Then Edwald smiled again in silent contentment, like a 

160 flower after the morning showers of May. 

The eyes of Hildegardis glanced mildly and kindly on 
him, and she often conversed graciously with him, while, on 
the other hand, since yesterday, a reverential awe seemed to 
separate her from Froda. But Edwald also was much 

165 altered. However he welcomed, with modest joy, the favor 
of his lady, it yet seemed as if some barrier were between 
them, which forbade him to entertain the most distant hope 
of successful love. 



246 A SLA UGA 'S KNIGHT. 

It chanced that a noble count, from the court of the 

170 Emperor, was announced, who, being bound on an important 
embassy, had wished to pay his respects to the Lady Hilde- 
gardis, by the way. She received him gladly, and as soon 
as the first salutations were over, he said, looking at her and 
at Edwald, " I know not if my good fortune may not have 

175 brought me hither to a very joyful festivity. That would be 
right welcome news to the Emperor my master." Hildegar- 
dis and Edwald were lovely to look upon in their blushes 
and confusion, but the count, perceiving at once that he had 
been too hasty, inclined himself respectfully towards the' 

180 young knight, and said, " Pardon me, noble Duke Edwald, 
my too great forwardness, but I know the wish of my sover- 
eign, and the hope to find it already fulfilled prompted my 
tongue to speak." All eyes were fixed inquiringly on the 
young hero, who answered, in graceful confusion, " It is true ; 

185 the Emperor, when I was last in his camp, through his unde- 
served favor, raised me to rank of a duke. It was my 
good fortune that, in an encounter, some of the enemy's 
horse, who had dared to assault the sacred person of the 
Emperor, dispersed and fled on my approach." The count 

190 then, at the request of Hildegardis, related every circum- 
stance of the heroic deed ; and it appeared that Edwald had 
not only rescued the Emperor from the most imminent peril, 
but also, with the cool and daring skill of a general, had 
gained the victory which decided the .event of the war. 

195 Surprise at first sealed the lips of all ; and even before 
their congratulations could begin, Hildegardis had turned 
towards Edwald, and said in a low voice, which yet, in that 
silence, was clearly heard by all, " The noble count has 
made known the wish of my imperial uncle, and, I conceal it 

200 no longer, my own heart's wish is the same — I am Duke 
Edwald's bride." And with that she extended to him her 
fair right hand, and all present waited only till he should 
take it, before they burst into a shout of congratulation. 



ASLA UGA 'S KNIGHT. 247 

But Edwald forbore to do so ; he only sunk on one knee be- 

205 fore his lady, saying, " God forbid that the lofty Hildegardis 
should ever recall a word spoken solemnly to noble knights 
and dames. ' To no vanquished knight/ you said, ' might 
the hand of the Emperor's niece belong' — and behold there 
Froda, the noble Danish knight, my conqueror." Hildegar- 

210 dis, with a slight blush, turned hastily away, hiding her eyes, 
and as Edwald arose, it seemed as though there were a tear 
upon his cheek. 

In his clanging armor Froda advanced to the middle of 
the hall, exclaiming, " I declare my late victory over Duke 

215 Edwald to have been the chance of fortune, and I chal- 
lenge the noble knight to meet me again to-morrow in the 
lists." 

At the same time he threw his iron gauntlet ringing on 
the pavement. 

220 But Edwald moved not to take it up. On the contrary, a 
glow of lofty anger was on his cheeks, and his eyes sparkled 
with indignation, so that his friend would hardly have recog- 
nized him ; and after a silence he spoke — 

"Noble Sir Froda, if I have ever offended you, we 

225 are now even. How durst you, a warrior gloriously wounded 
by two sword-strokes, challenge a man unhurt into the 
lists to-morrow, if you did not despise him ? " 

" Forgive me, Duke Edwald," answered Froda, somewhat 
abashed, but with cheerfulness, " I have spoken too boldly. 

230 Not till I am completely cured do I call you to the field." 

Then Edwald took up the gauntlet joyfully. He knelt 
once more before Hildegardis, who, turning away her face, 
gave him her fair hand to kiss, and walked, with his arm in 
that of his noble Danish friend, out of the hall. 



248 A SLA UGA >S KNIGHT. 



CHAPTER VII. 

While Froda's wounds were healing Edwald would some- 
times wander, when the shades of evening fell dark and 
silent around, on the flowery terraces beneath the windows 
of Hildegardis, and sing pleasant little songs ; amongst 
5 others the following : — 

" Heal fast, heal fast, ye hero-wounds ; 
O knight, be quickly strong; 
Beloved strife 
For fame and life, 

tarry not too long ! " 

But that one which the maidens of the castle loved best to 
learn from him was this, and it was perhaps the longest song 
that Edwald had ever sung in his whole life : — 

" Would I on earth were lying, 
By noble hero slain ; 
So that love's gentle sighing 
Breathed me to life again ! 

" Would I an emperor were, 
Of wealth and power ! 
Would I were gathering twigs 
In woodland bower ! 

" Would that in lone seclusion 
I lived a hermit's life ! 
Would, amid wild confusion, 

1 led the battle-strife ! " 

" O would the lot were mine, 
In bower or field, 
To which my lady fair 
Her smile would yield ! " 

At this time it happened that a man who held himself to 
10 be very wise, and who rilled the office of secretary to the 



AS L AUG A' S KNIGHT. 249 

aged guardian of Hildegardis, came to the two knightly 
friends to propose a scheme to them. His proposal, in few 
words, was this, that as Froda could gain no advantage from 
his victory, he might in the approaching combat suffer him- 

15 self to be thrown from his steed, and thus secure the lady 
for his comrade, at the same time fulfilling the wish of the 
Emperor, which might turn to his advantage hereafter in 
many ways. 

At this the two friends at first laughed heartily ; but then 

20 Froda advanced gravely towards the secretary, and said, 
" Thou trifler, doubtless the old duke would drive thee from 
his service did he know of thy folly, and teach thee to talk 
of the Emperor. Good-night, worthy sir, and trust me that 
when Edwald and I meet each other, it will be with all our 

25 heart and strength." 

The secretary hastened out of the room with all speed 
and was seen next morning to look unusually pale. 

Soon after this Froda recovered from his wounds ; the 
course was again prepared as before, but crowded by a still 

30 greater number of spectators ; and, in the freshness of a dewy 
morning, the two knights advanced solemnly together to 
the combat. 

" Beloved Edwald," said Froda, in a low voice, as they 
went, "take good heed to yourself, for neither this time can 

35 the victory be yours — on that rose-colored cloud appears 
Aslauga. 

" It may be so," answered Edwald, with a quiet smile ; 
"but under the arches of that golden bower shines Hildegar- 
dis, and this time she has not been waited for." 

40 The knights took their places — the trumpets sounded, the 
course began, and Froda's prophecy seemed to be near its 
fulfillment, for Edwald staggered under the stroke of his 
lance, so that he let go the bridle, seized the mane with both 
hands, and thus hardly recovered his seat, whilst his high- 



250 A SLA UGA'S KNIGHT. 

45 mettled snow-white steed bore him wildly around the lists 
without control. Hildegardis also seemed to shrink at this 
sight, but the youth at length reined in his steed, and the 
second course was run. 

Froda shot like lightning along the plain, and it seemed as 

50 if the success of the young duke were now hopeless ; but in 
the shock of their meeting, the bold Danish steed reared, 
starting aside as if in fear; the rider staggered, his stroke 
passed harmless by, and both steed and knight fell clanging 
to the ground before the steadfast spear of Edvvald, and lay 

55 motionless upon the held. 

Edwald did now as Froda had done before. In knightly 
wise he stood still a while upon the spot, as if waiting to 
see whether any other adversary were there to dispute his 
victory ; then he sprang from his steed, and flew to the 

60 assistance of his fallen friend. 

He strove with all his might to release him from the weight 
of his horse, and presently Froda came to himself, rose on 
his feet, and raised up his charger also. Then he lifted up 
his visor, and greeted his conqueror with a friendly smile, 

65 though his countenance was pale. The victor bowed humbly, 
almost timidly, and said, " You, my knight, overthrown — and 
by me ! I understand it not." 

" It was her own will," answered Froda, smiling. " Come 
now to your gentle bride." 

70 The multitude around shouted aloud, each lady and knight 
bowed low, when the aged duke pointed out to them the 
lovely pair, and at his bidding, the betrothed, with soft 
blushes, embraced each other beneath the green garlands of 
the golden bower. 

75 That very day were they solemnly united in the chapel of 
the castle, for so had Froda earnestly desired. A journey 
into a far-distant land, he said, lay before him, and much he 
wished to celebrate the marriage of his friend before his 
departure. 



AS LA UGA >S KNIGHT. 2 5 I 



CHAPTER VIII. 

The torches were burning clear in the vaulted halls of the 

castle, Hildegardis had just left the arm of her lover to begin 

a stately dance of ceremony with the aged duke, when 

Edwald beckoned to his companion, and they went forth 

5 together into the moonlit gardens of the castle. 

" Ah, Frocla, my noble, lofty hero," exclaimed Edwald, 
after a silence, " were you as happy as I am ! But your eyes 
rest gravely and thoughtfully on the ground, or kindle almost 
impatiently heavenwards. It would be dreadful, indeed, had 

10 the secret wish of your heart been to win Hildegardis — and 
I, foolish boy, so strangely favored, had stood in your way." 
" Be at rest, Edchen," answered the Danish hero, with a 
smile. " On the word of a knight, my thoughts and yearn- 
ings concern not your fair Hildegardis. Far brighter than 

15 ever does Aslauga's radiant image shine into my heart : but 
now hear what I am going to relate to you. 

"At the very moment when we met together in the course 
— oh, had I words to express it to you ! — I was enwrapped, 
encircled, dazzled by Aslauga's golden tresses, which were 

20 waving all around me. Even my noble steed must have 
beheld the apparition, for I felt him start and rear under me. 
I saw you no more — the world no more — I saw only the 
angel face of Aslauga close before me, smiling, blooming like 
a flower in a sea of sunshine which floated around her. My 

25 senses failed me. Not till you raised me from beneath my 
horse did my consciousness return, and then I knew, with 
exceeding joy, that her own gracious pleasure had struck me 
clown. But I felt a strange weariness, far greater than my 
fall alone could have caused, and I felt assured at the same 

30 time that my lady was about to send me on a far-distant mis- 
sion. I hastened to repose myself in my chamber, and a 
deep sleep immediately fell upon me. Then came Aslauga 



2$2 A SLA UGA 'S KNIGHT. 

in a dream to me, more royally adorned than ever ; she placed 

herself at the head of my couch, and said, * Haste to array 
35 thyself in all the splendor of thy silver armor, for thou art 

not the wedding-guest alone, thou art also the — ' 

" And before she could speak the word my dream had 

melted away, and I felt a longing desire to fulfill her gracious 

command, and rejoiced in my heart. But in the midst of the 
40 festival I seemed to myself more lonely than in all my life 

before, and 1 cannot cease to ponder what that unspoken 

word of my lady could be intended to announce." 

" You are of a far loftier spirit than I am, Froda," said 

Edwald, after a silence, " and I cannot soar with you into the 
45 sphere of your joys. But tell me, has it never awakened a 

deep pang within you that you serve a lady so withdrawn 

from you — alas ! a lady who is almost ever invisible ? " 

" No, Edwald, not so," answered Froda, his eyes sparkling 

with happiness. " For well I know that she scorns not my 
50 service ; she has even deigned sometimes to appear to me. 

Oh, I am in truth a happy knight and minstrel!" 

" And yet your silence to-day — your troubled yearnings ? " 
"Not troubled, dear Edchen ; only so heartfelt, so fervent 

in the depth of my heart— and so strangely mysterious to my- 
55 self withal. But this, with all belonging to me, springs alike 

from the words and commands of Aslauga. How, then, can 

it be otherwise than something good and fair, and tending to 

a high and noble aim ? " 

A squire, who had hastened after them, announced that the 
60 knightly bridegroom was expected for the torch-dance, and 

as they returned, Edwald entreated his friend to take his 

place in the solemn dance next to him and Hildegardis. 

Froda inclined his head in token of friendly assent. 

The horns and hautboys had already sounded their solemn 

65 invitation ; Edwald hastened to give his hand to his fair 

bride; and while he advanced with her to the midst of the 



A SLA UGA 'S KNIGHT. 253 

Stately hall, Froda offered his hand for the torch-dance to a 
noble lady who stood the nearest to him, without farther 
observing her, and took with her the next place to the wed- 

70 ded pair. 

But how was it when a light began to beam from his com- 
panion, before which the torch in his left hand lost all its 
brightness ? Hardly dared he, in sweet and trembling hope, 
raise his eyes to the lady; and when at last he ventured, all 

75 his boldest wishes and longings were fulfilled. Adorned 

with a radiant bridal crown of emeralds, Aslauga moved in 

solemn loveliness beside him, and beamed on him from amid 

the sunny light of her golden hair, blessing him with her 

heavenly countenance. The amazed spectators could not 

80 withdraw their eyes from the mysterious pair — the knight in 
his light silver mail, with the torch raised on high in his 
hand, earnest and joyful, moving with a measured step, as if 
engaged in a ceremony of deep and mysterious meaning. 
His lady beside him, rather floating than dancing, beaming 

85 light from her golden hair, so that you would have thought 
the day was shining into the night ; and when a look could 
reach through all the surrounding splendor to her face, 
rejoicing heart and sense with the unspeakably sweet smile 
of her eyes and lips. 

90 Near the end of the dance she inclined towards Froda, 
and whispered to him with an air of tender confidence, and 
with the last sound of the horns and hautboys she had dis- 
appeared. 

The most curious spectator dared not question Froda 

95 about his partner. Hildegardis did not seem to have been 
conscious of her presence, but shortly before the end of the 
festival Edwald approached his friend, and asked in a whis- 
per, " Was it ? " 

" Yes, dear youth," answered Froda; "your marriage 

100 dance has been honored by the presence of the most ex- 
alted beauty which has been ever beheld in any land. Ah ! 



254 ASLA UGA'S KNIGHT. 

and if I rightly understood her meaning, you will, never 
more see me stand sighing and gazing upon the ground. 
But hardly dare I hope it. Now good-night, dear Edchen, 
105 good-night. As soon as I may I will tell you all." 



CHAPTER IX. 

The light and joyous dreams of morning still played 
round Edwald's head when it seemed as though a clear light 
encompassed him. He remembered Aslauga, but it was 
Froda, the golden locks of whose helmet shone now with no 
5 less sunny brightness than the flowing hair of his lady. 
" Ah ! " thought Edwald in his dream, " how beautiful has 
my brother-in-arms become ! " And Froda said to him, " I 
will sing something to you, Edchen ; but softly, softly, so 
that it may not awaken Hildegardis. Listen to me. 

" ' She glided in, bright as the day, ' 

There where her knight in slumber lay; 
And in her lily hand was seen 
A band that seemed of the moonlight sheen. 
" We are one," she sang, as about his hair 
She twined it, and over her tresses fair. 
Beneath them the world lay dark and drear: 
But he felt the touch of her hand so dear, 
Uplifting him far above mortals' sight, 
While around him were shed her locks of light, 
Till a garden fair lay about him spread — 
And this was Paradise, angels said V 

to "Never in your life did you sing so sweetly," said the 
dreaming Edwald. 

"That may well be, Edchen," said Froda, with a smile, 
and vanished. 

But Edwald dreamed on and on, and many other visions 
15 passed before him, all of a pleasing kind, although he could 



A SLA UGA 'S KNIGHT. 255 

not recall them when, in the full light of morning, he un- 
closed his eyes with a smile. Froda alone, and his myste- 
rious song, stood clear in his memory. He now knew full 
well that his friend was dead ; but the thought gave him no 

20 pain, for he felt sure that the pure spirit of that minstrel-war- 
rior could only find its proper joy in the gardens of Paradise, 
and in blissful solace with the lofty spirits of the ancient 
times. He glided softly from the side of the sleeping 
Hildegardis to the chamber of the departed. He lay upon 

25 his bed of rest, almost as beautiful as he had appeared in 
the dream, and his golden helmet was entwined with a won- 
drously-shining lock of hair. Then Edwald-made a fair and 
shady grave in consecrated ground, summoned the chaplain 
of the castle, and with his assistance laid his beloved Froda 

30 therein. 

He came back just as Hildegardis awoke ; she beheld, 
with wonder and humility, his mien of chastened joy, and 
asked him whither he had been so early, to which he re- 
plied, with a smile, " I have just buried the corpse of my 

35 dearly-loved Froda, who, this very night, has passed away to 
his golden-haired mistress." Then he related the whole 
history of Aslauga's Knight, and lived on in subdued, un- 
ruffled happiness, though for some time he was even more 
silent and thoughtful than before. He was often found sit- 

40 ting on the grave of his friend, and singing the following 
song to his lute : — 

u Listening to celestial lays, 
Bending thy unclouded gaze 
On the pure and living light, 
Thou art blest, Aslauga's Knight ! " 

" Send us from thy bower on high 
Many an angel melody, 
Many a vision soft and bright, 
Aslauga's dear and faithful Knight ! " 



THE STORY WITHOUT AN END. 

BY 

FREDERICK WILHELM CAROVE. 

Translated from the German by Mrs. Sarah Austin. 

I. 

There was once a Child who lived in a little hut, and in 
the hut there was nothing but a little bed and a looking- 
glass, which hung in a dark corner. Now the Child cared, 
nothing at all about the looking-glass ; but, as soon as the 

5 first sunbeam glided softly through the casement, and kissed 
his sweet eyelids, and the finch and the linnet waked him 
merrily with their morning songs, he arose, and went out into 
the green meadow. And he begged flour of the primrose, 
and sugar of the violet, and butter of the buttercup ; he 

10 shook dewdrops from the cowslip into the cup of a harebell ; 
spread out a large lime-leaf, set his little breakfast upon it, 
and feasted daintily. Sometimes he invited a humming-bee, 
oftener a gay butterfly, to partake his feast ; but his favorite 
guest was the blue dragon-fly. The bee murmured a good 

15 deal, in a solemn tone, about his riches ; but the Child 
thought that if he were a bee, heaps of treasure would not 
make him gay and happy ; and that it must be much more 
delightful and glorious to float about in the free and fresli 
breezes of spring, and to hum joyously in the web of the 

20 sunbeams, than, with heavy feet and heavy heart, to stow 
the silver wax and the golden honey into cells. 

To this the Butterfly assented ; and he told how, once on 
a time, he too had been greedy and sordid ; how he had 
thought of nothing but eating, and had never once turned 

25 his eyes upwards to the blue heavens. At length, however, 

256 



THE STORY WITHOUT AN END. 2$ J 

a complete change had come over him ; and instead of 
crawling spiritless about the dirty earth, half dreaming, he 
all at once awaked as out of a deep sleep. And now he 
would rise into the air ; and it was his greatest joy some- 

30 times to play with the light, and to reflect the heavens in 
the bright eyes of his wings, sometimes to listen to the soft 
language of the flowers, and catch their secrets. Such talk 
delighted the Child, and his breakfast was the sweeter to 
him, and the sunshine on leaf and flower seemed to him 

35 more bright and cheering. 

But when the Bee had flown off to beg from flower to 
flower, and the Butterfly had fluttered away to his play- 
fellows, the Dragon-fly still remained, poised on a blade 
of grass. Her slender and burnished body, more brightly 

40 and deeply blue than the deep blue sky, glistened in the sun- 
beam ; and her net-like wings laughed at the flowers because 
they could not fly, but must stand still and abide the wind 
and the rain. The Dragon-fly sipped a little of the Child's 
clear dew-drops and blue violet-honey, and then whispered 

45 her winged words. And the Child made an end of his re- 
past, closed his dark blue eyes, bent down his beautiful 
head, and listened to the sweet prattle. 

Then the Dragon-fly told much of the merry life in the 
green wood ; how sometimes she played hide-and-seek with 

50 her playfellows under the broad leaves of the oak and the 
beech trees ; or hunt-the-hare along the surface of the still 
waters ; sometimes quietly watched the sunbeams, as they 
flew busily from moss to flower and from flower to bush, 
and shed life and warmth over all. But at night, she said 

55 the moonbeams glided softly around the wood, and dropped 
dew into the mouths of all the thirsty plants; and when the 
dawn pelted the slumberers with the soft roses of heaven 
some of the half-dazed flowers looked up and smiled ; but 
most of them could not so much as raise their heads for a 

60 long, long time. 
i7 



258 THE STORY WITHOUT AN END. 

Such stories did the Dragon-fly tell ; and as the Child sat 
motionless, with his eyes shut and his head rested on his 
little hand, she thought he had fallen asleep ; so she poised 
her double wings and flew into the rustling wood. 

II. 

But the Child was only sunk into a dream of delight, and 
was wishing he were a sunbeam or a moonbeam ; and he 
would have been glad to hear more and more, and forever. 
At last, as all was still, he opened his eyes and looked 

5 around for his dear guest ; but she was flown far away ; so he 
could not bear to sit there any longer alone, and he rose and 
went to the gurgling brook. It gushed and rolled merrily 
and tumbled wildly along as it hurried to throw itself 
head over heels into the river, just as if the great massy 

10 rock out of which it sprang were close behind it, and could 
only be escaped by a breakneck leap. 

Then the Child began to talk to the little waves, and 
asked them whence they came. They would not stay to give 
him an answer, but danced away, one over another ; till at 

15 last, that the sweet Child might not be grieved, a drop of 
water stopped behind a piece of rock. From her the Child 
heard strange histories, but he could not understand them 
all, for she told him about her former life, and about the 
depths of the mountain. 

20 " A long while ago," said the Drop of Water, " I lived 
with my countless sisters in the great ocean, in peace and 
unity. We had all sorts of pastimes ; sometimes we mounted 
up high into the air, and peeped at the stars ; then we sank 
plump down deep below, and watched how the coral builders 

25 work till they are tired, that they may reach the light of day 
at last. But I was conceited, and thought myself much 
better than my sisters. And so one day, when the sun rose 
out of the sea, I clung fast to one of his hot beams, and 
thought that now I should reach the stars, and become one 



THE STORY WITHOUT AN END. 259 

30 of them. But I had not ascended far, when the sunbeam 
shook me off, and in spite of all I could say or do, let me 
fall into a dark cloud. And soon a flash of fire darted 
through the cloud, and now I thought I must surely die ; but 
the whole cloud laid itself down softly upon the top of a 

35 mountain, and so I escaped with my fright, and a black eye. 
Now I thought I should remain hidden, when all on a sud- 
den I slipped over a round pebble, fell from one stone to 
another, down into the depths of the mountain, till at last it 
was pitch dark, and I could neither see nor hear anything. 

40 Then I found, indeed, that ' pride goeth before a fall,' 
resigned myself to my fate, and, as I had already laid aside 
all my unhappy pride in the cloud, my portion was now 
the salt of humility ; and after undergoing many purifications 
from the hidden virtues of metals and minerals, I was at 

45 length permitted to come up once more into the free, cheerful 
air ; and now will I run back to my sisters, and there wait 
patiently till I am called to something better.' , 

But hardly had she done, when the root of a forget-me-not 
caught the drop of water by her hair and sucked her in, that 

50 she might become a floweret, and twinkle brightly as a blue 
star on the green firmament of earth. 

III. 

The Child did not very well know what to think of all 
this : he went thoughtfully home and laid himself on his 
little bed ; and all night long he was wandering about on the 
ocean, and among the stars, and over the dark mountain. 
5 But the moon loved to look on the slumbering Child as he 
lay with his little head softly pillowed on his right arm. 
She lingered a long time before his little window, and went 
slowly away to lighten the dark chamber of some sick person. 

As the moon's soft light lay on the child's eyelids, he fan- 

10 cied he sat in a golden boat, on a great, great water, while 

gountless stars swam glittering on the dark mirror, He 



26o THE STORY WITHOUT AN END. 

stretched out his hand to catch the nearest star, but it had 
vanished, and the water sprayed up against him. Then he 
saw clearly that these were not the real stars; he looked 

is up to heaven, and wished he could fly thither. 

But in the mean time the moon had wandered on her way, 
and now the Child was led in his dream into the clouds, and 
he thought he was sitting on a white sheep, and he saw many 
lambs grazing around him. He tried to catch a little lamb 

20 to play with, but it was all mist and vapor ; and the Child 
was sorrowful, and wished himself down again in his own 
meadow, where his own lamb was sporting gayly about. 

Meanwhile the moon was gone to sleep behind the mount- 
ains, and all around was dark. Then the Child dreamt 

25 that, he fell down into the dark, gloomy caverns of the 
mountain, and at that he was so frightened, that he suddenly 
awoke, just as morning opened her clear eye over the near- 
est hill. 

IV. 

The Child started up, and, to recover himself from his 
fright, went into the little flower-garden behind his cottage 
where the beds were surrounded by ancient palm-trees, and 
where he knew that all the flowers would nod kindly at him. 

5 But, behold, the Tulip turned up her nose, and the Ranun- 
culus held her head as stiffly as possible, that she might not 
bow good-morrow to him. The Rose, with her fair round 
cheeks, smiled and greeted the Child lovingly ; so he went 
up to her and kissed her fragrant mouth. And then the 

10 Rose tenderly complained that he so seldom came into the 
garden, and that she gave out her bloom and her fragrance 
the live-long day in vain ; for the other flowers could not 
see her, because they were too low, or did not care to look 
at her, because they themselves were so rich in bloom and 

15 fragrance. But she was most delighted when she glowed in 



THE STORY WITHOUT AN END. 26 1 

the blooming head of a child, and could pour out all her 
heart's secrets to him in sweet odors. Among other things, 
the Rose whispered in his ear that she was the fulness of 
beauty. 

20 And, in truth, the Child, while looking at her beauty, 
seemed to have quite forgotten to go on ; till the Blue Lark- 
spur called to him and asked whether he cared nothing 
more about his faithful friend ; she said that she was un- 
changed, and that even in death she should look upon him 

25 with eyes of unfading blue. 

The Child thanked her for her true-heartedness, and passed 
on to the Hyacinth, who stood near the puffy, full-cheeked, 
gaudy Tulips. Even from a distance the Hyacinth sent forth 
kisses to him, for she knew not how to express her love. 

30 Although she was not remarkable for her beauty, yet the 
Child felt himself wondrously attracted by her, for he 
thought no flower loved him so well. But the Hyacinth 
poured out her full heart and wept bitterly, because she 
stood so lonely ; the Tulips indeed were her countrymen, but 

35 they were so cold and unfeeling that she was ashamed of 
them. The Child encouraged her, and told her he did not 
think things were so bad as she fancied. The Tulips spoke 
their love in bright looks, while she uttered hers in fragrant 
words; that these, indeed, were lovelier and more intelligible, 

40 but that the others were not to be despised. 

Then the Hyacinth was comforted, and said she would 
be content ; and the Child went on to the powdered Auri- 
cula, who, in her bashfulness, looked kindly up to him, and 
would gladly have given him more than kind looks, had she 

45 had more to give. But the Child was satisfied with her 
modest greeting; he felt that he was poor too, and he saw 
the deep, thoughtful colors that lay beneath her golden dust. 
But the humble flower, of her own accord, sent him to her 
neighbor, the Lily, whom she willingly acknowledged as her 

50 queen. And when the Child came to the Lily, the slender 



262 THE STORY WITHOUT AN END. 

flower waved to and fro and bowed her pale head with gentle 
pride and stately modesty, and sent forth a fragrant greet- 
ing to him. The Child knew not what had come to him : it 
reached his inmost heart, so that his eyes filled with soft 

55 tears. Then he marked how the Lily gazed with a clear and 
steadfast eye upon the sun, and how the sun looked down 
again into her pure chalice, and how, amid this interchange 
of looks, the three golden threads united in the center. And 
the Child heard how one scarlet Lady-bird at the bottom of 

60 the cup said to another, " Knowest thou not that we dwell 
in the flower of heaven ? " and the other replied, " Yes ; and 
now will the mystery be fulfilled." And, as the Child saw 
and heard all this, the dim image of his unknown parents, 
veiled as it were in a holy light, floated before his eyes : 

65 he strove to grasp it, but the light was gone, and the Child 
slipped, and would have fallen, had not the branch of a 
currant bush caught and held him ; and he took some of the 
bright berries for his morning's meal, and went back to his 
hut and stripped the little branches. 



But he stayed not long in the hut ; all was so gloomy, 
close, and silent within, and abroad everything seemed to 
smile, and to exult in the clear and unbounded space. 
Therefore the Child went out into the green wood, of which 
5 the Dragon-fly had told him such pleasant stories. He 
found everything far more beautiful and lovely even than 
she had described it ; for all about, wherever he went, the 
tender moss pressed his little feet, and the delicate grass 
embraced his knees, and the flowers kissed his hands, and 
10 even the branches stroked his cheeks with a kind and re- 
freshing touch, and the high trees threw their fragrant shade 
around him. 

There was no end to his delight. - The little birds warbled 



THE STORY WITHOUT AN END, 263 

and sang, and fluttered and hopped about, and the delicate 

15 wood-flowers gave out their beauty and their odors ; and 
every sweet sound took a sweet odor by the hand, and thus 
walked through the open door of the Child's heart, and held 
a joyous nuptial dance therein. The Nightingale and the 
Lily of the Valley led the dance ; for the Nightingale sang 

20 of nought but love, and the Lily breathed of nought but in- 
nocence, and he was the bridegroom and she was the bride. 
And the Nightingale was never weary of repeating the same 
thing a hundred times over, for the spring of love which 
gushed from his heart was ever new ; and the Lily bowed 

25 her head bashfully, that no one might see her glowing heart. 
And yet the one lived so solely and entirely in the other, 
that no one could see whether the notes of the Nightingale 
were floating lilies, or the lilies visible notes, falling like 
dewdrops from the Nightingale's throat. 

30 The Child's heart was full of joy even to the brim. He 
set himself down, and he almost thought he should like to 
take root there, and live forever among the sweet plants 
and flowers, and so become a true sharer in all their gentle 
pleasures. For he felt a deep delight in the still, secluded, 

35 twilight existence of the mosses and small herbs, which felt 
not the storm, nor the frost, nor the scorching sunbeam ; 
but dwelt quietly among their many friends and neighbors, 
feasting in peace and good fellowship on the dew and cool 
shadows which the mighty trees shed upon them. To them 

40 it was a high festival when a sunbeam chanced to visit their 
lowly home ; whilst the tops of the lofty trees could find joy 
and beauty only in the purple rays of morning or evening. 

VI. 

And as the Child sat there, a little Mouse rustled from 
among the dry leaves of last year, and a Lizard half 
glided from a crevice in the rock, and both of them fixed 



264 THE STORY WITHOUT AN END. 

their bright eyes upon the little stranger ; and when they 

5 saw that he designed them no evil, they took courage and 
came nearer to him. 

" I should like to live with you," said the Child to the two 
little creatures, in a soft, subdued voice, that he might not 
frighten them. " Your chambers are so snug, so warm, and 

10 yet so shaded, and the flowers grow in at your windows, and 
the birds sing you their morning song, and call you to table 
and to bed with their clear warblings." 
' " Yes," said the Mouse, " it would be all very well if all 
the plants bore nuts and mast, instead of those silly flowers ; 

15 and if I were not obliged to grub under ground in the spring, 
and gnaw the bitter roots, whilst they are dressing them- 
selves in their fine flowers and flaunting it to the world, as if 
they had endless stores of honey in their cellars." 

"Hold your tongue," interrupted the Lizard, pertly; " do 

20 you think, because you are gray, that other people must 
throw away their handsome clothes, or let them lie in the 
dark wardrobe underground, and wear nothing but gray too? 
I am not so envious. The flowers may dress themselves as 
they like for me ; they pay for it out of their own pockets, 

25 and they feed bees and beetles from their cups ; but what I 
want to know is, of what use are birds in the world ? Such 
a fluttering and chattering, truly, from morning early to 
evening late, that one is worried and stunned to death, and 
there is never a day's peace for them. And they do noth- 

30 ing; only snap up the flies and the spiders out of the mouths 
of such as I. For my part, I should be perfectly satisfied, 
provided all the birds in the world were flies and beetles." 

The Child changed color, and his heart was sick and 
saddened when he heard their evil tongues. He could not 

35 imagine how anybody could speak ill of the beautiful 
flowers, or scoff at his beloved birds. He was waked out 
of a sweet dream, and the wood seemed to him lonely and 
desert, and he was ill at ease. He started up hastily, so that 



THE STORY WITHOUT AN END. 265 

the Mouse and the Lizard shrank back alarmed, and did not 
40 look around them till they thought themselves safe out of the 
reach of the stranger with the large, severe eyes. 

VII. 

But the Child went away from the place ; and as he hung 
down his head thoughtfully, he did not observe that he took 
the wrong path, nor see how the flowers on either side 
bowed their heads to welcome him, nor hear how the old 

5 birds from the boughs, and the young from the nests, cried 
aloud to him, " God bless thee, our dear little prince ! " 
And he went on and on, farther and farther, into the deep 
wood ; and he thought over the foolish and heartless talk of 
the two selfish chatterers, and could not understand it. He 

10 would fain have forgotten it, but he could not. And the 
more he pondered, the more it seemed to him as if a ma- 
licious spider had spun her web around him, and as if his 
eyes were weary with trying to look through it. 

And suddenly he came to a still water, above which young 

15 beeches lovingly entwined their arms. He looked in the 
water, and his eyes were riveted to it as if by enchantment. 
He could not move, but stood and gazed in the soft, placid 
mirror, from the bosom of which the tender green foliage, 
with the deep blue heavens between, gleamed so wondrously 

20 upon him. His sorrow was all forgotten, and even the echo 
of the discord in his little heart was hushed. That heart 
was once more in his eyes ; and fain would he have drunk 
in the soft beauty of the colors that lay beneath him, or have 
plunged into the lovely deep. 

25 Then the breeze began to sigh among the tree tops. 
The Child raised his eyes and saw overhead the quivering 
green, and the deep blue behind it, and he knew not whether 
he were waking or dreaming : which were the real leaves 
and the real heaven — those in the depths above or in the 



266 THE STORY WITHOUT AN END. 

30 depths beneath. Long did the Child waver, and his 
thoughts floated in a delicious dreaminess from one to the 
other, till the Dragon-fly flew to him in affectionate haste, 
and with rustling wings greeted her kind host. The Child 
returned her greeting, and was glad to meet an acquaintance 

35 with whom he could share the rich feast of his joy. But 
first he asked the Dragon-fly if she could decide for him 
between the Upper and the Nether — the height and the 
depth? The Dragon-fly flew above, and beneath, and 
around ; but the Water spake : — " The foliage and the sky 

40 above are not the true ones : the leaves wither and fall ; the 
sky is often overcast, and sometimes quite dark." Then 
the Leaves and the Sky said, " The water only apes us ; 
it must change its pictures at our pleasure, and can retain 
none." Then the Dragon-fly remarked that the height and 

45 the depth existed only in the eyes of the Child, and that the 
Leaves and the Sky were true and real only in his thoughts ; 
because in the mind alone the picture was permanent and en- 
during, and could be carried with him whithersoever he went. 
This she said to the Child ; but she immediately warned 

50 him to return, for the leaves were already beating the tattoo 
in the evening breeze, and the lights were disappearing one 
by one in every corner. Then the Child confessed to her 
with alarm that he knew not how he should find the way 
back, and that he feared the dark night would overtake him 

55 if he attempted to go home alone ; so the Dragon-fly flew on 
before him, and showed him a cave in the rock where he 
might pass the night. And the Child was well content ; for 
he had often wished to try if he could sleep out of his ac- 
customed bed. 

VIII. 

The Dragon-fly was fleet, and gratitude strengthened 
her wings to pay her host the honor she owed him. And 



THE STORY WITHOUT AN END. 267 

truly, in the dim twilight good counsel and guidance were 
scarce. She flitted hither and thither without knowing 
5 rightly what was to be done ; when, by the last vanishing 
sunbeam, she saw hanging on the edge of the cave some 
strawberries that had drunk so deep of the evening red, that 
their heads were quite heavy. Then she flew up to a Hare- 
bell who stood near, and whispered in her ear that the lord 

10 and king of all the flowers was in the wood, and ought to 
be received and welcomed as beseemed his dignity. Aglaia 
did not need that this should be repeated. She began to 
ring her sweet bells with all her might; and when her 
neighbor heard the sound, she rang hers also ; and soon all 

15 the Harebells, great and small, were in motion, and rang 
as if it had been for the nuptials of their Mother Earth 
herself with the Prince of the Sun. The tone of the blue- 
bells was deep and rich, and that of the white, high and 
clear, and all blended together in a delicious harmony. 

20 But the birds were fast asleep in their high nests, and the 
ears of the other animals were not delicate enough, or were 
too much overgrown with hair to hear them. The Fire-flies 
alone heard the joyous peal, for they were akin to the flowers 
through their common ancestor, Light. They inquired of 

85 their nearest relation, the Lily of the Valley, and from her 
they heard that a large flower had just passed along the foot- 
path more blooming than the loveliest rose, and with two 
stars more brilliant than those of the brightest fire-fly, and 
that it must needs be their King. Then all the Fire-flies 

30 flew up and down the footpath, and sought everywhere, till 
at length they came, as the Dragon-fly had hoped they 
would, to the cave. 

And now, as they looked at the Child, and every one of 
them saw itself reflected in his clear eyes, they rejoiced ex- 

35 ceedingly, and called all their fellows together, and alighted 
on the bushes all around ; and soon it was so light in the 
cave, that herb and grass began to grow as if it had been 



268 THE STORY WITHOUT AN END. 

broad day. Now, indeed, was the joy and triumph of the 
Dragon-fly complete. The Child was delighted with the 
40 merry and silvery tones of the bells, and with the many little 
bright-eyed companions around him, and with the deep 
red strawberries that bowed down their heads to his 
touch. 

IX. 

And when he had eaten his fill, he sat down on the soft 
moss, crossed one little leg over the other, and began to 
gossip with the Fire-flies. And as he so often thought on 
his unknown parents he asked them who were their parents. 

5 Then the one nearest to him gave him answer ; and he told 
how that they were formerly flowers, but none of those who 
thrust their rooty hands greedily into the ground and draw 
nourishment from the dingy earth, only to make themselves 
fat and large withal ; but that the light was dearer to them 

10 than anything, even at night ; and while the other flowers 
slept, they gazed unwearied on the light, and drank it in 
with eager adoration — sun, and moon, and star light. And 
the light had so thoroughly purified them, that they had not 
sucked in poisonous juices like the yellow flowers of the 

15 earth, but sweet odors for sick and fainting hearts, and oil. 
of potent ethereal virtue for the weak and the wounded ; and 
at length, when their autumn came, they did not, like the 
others wither and sink down, leaf and flower, to be swal- 
lowed up by the darksome earth, but shook of! their earthly 

20 garment and mounted aloft, into the clear air. But there 
it was so wondrously bright, that sight failed them ; and 
when they came to themselves again, they were fire-flies-, 
each sitting on a withered flower-stalk. 

And now the Child liked the bright-eyed flies better than 

25 ever ; and he talked a little longer with them, and inquired 
why they showed themselves so much more in the spring. 



THE STORY WITHOUT AN END. 269 

they did it, they said, in the hope that their gold-green 
radiance might allure their cousins, the flowers, to the pure 
love of light. 

X. 

During this conversation the Dragon-fly had been prepar- 
ing a bed for her host. The moss upon which the Child sat 
had grown a foot high behind his back, out of pure joy; but 
the Dragon-fly and her sisters had so revelled upon it, that 

5 it was now laid at its length along the cave. The Dragon- 
fly had awakened every spider in the neighborhood out of 
her sleep, and when they saw the brilliant light, they had 
set to work spinning so industriously that their web hung 
down like a curtain before the mouth of the cave. But as 

10 the Child saw the ant peeping up at him, he entreated the 
fire-flies not to deprive themselves any longer of their merry 
games in the wood on his account. And the Dragon-fly and 
her sisters raised the curtain till the Child had laid him down 
to rest, and then let it fall again, that the mischievous gnats 

15 might not get in to disturb his slumbers. 

The Child laid himself down to sleep, for he was very 
tired ; but he could not sleep, for his couch of moss was 
quite another thing than his little bed, and the cave was all 
strange to him. He turned himself on one side and then 

20 on the other, and, as nothing would do, he raised himself 
and sat upright to wait till sleep might choose to come. 
But sleep would not come at all ; and the only wakeful eyes 
in the whole wood were the Child's. For the harebells had 
rung themselves weary, and the fire-flies had flown about till 

25 they were tired, and even the dragon-fly, who would fain 
have kept watch in front of the cave, had dropped sound 
asleep. 

The wood grew stiller and stiller ; here and there fell a 
dry leaf which had been driven from its old dwelling place 



27O THE STORY WITHOUT AN END. 

30 by a fresh one ; here and there a young bird gave a soft chirp 
when its mother squeezed it in the nest ; and from time to 
time a gnat hummed for a minute or two in the curtain, till 
a spider crept on tip-toe along its web, and gave him such a 
gripe in the wind-pipe as soon spoiled his trumpeting. 

35 And the deeper the silence became, the more intently did 
the Child listen, and at last the slightest sound thrilled him 
from head to foot. At length, all was still as death in the 
wood ; and the world seemed as if it never would wake 
again. The Child bent forward to see whether it were as 

40 dark abroad as in the cave, but he saw nothing save the 
pitch-dark night, which had wrapped everything in its thick 
veil. Yet, as he looked upwards, his eyes met the friendly 
glance of two or three stars, and this was a most joyful sur- 
prise to him, for he felt himself no longer so entirely alone. 

45 The stars were, indeed, far, far away, but yet he knew them, 
and they knew him ; for they looked into his eyes. 

The Child's whole soul was fixed in his gaze; and it 
seemed to him as if he must needs fly out of the darksome 
cave, thither where the stars were beaming with such pure 

50 and serene light ; and he felt how poor and lowly he was, 
when he thought of their brilliancy ; and how cramped and 
fettered, when he thought of their free, unbounded course 
along the heavens. 

XI. 

But the stars went on their course, and left their glitter- 
ing picture only a little while before the Child's eyes. Even 
this faded, and then vanished quite away. And he was be- 
ginning to feel tired, and to wish to lay himself down again, 
5 when a flickering Will-o'-the-wisp appeared from behind a 
bush — so that the Child thought, at first, one of the stars 
had wandered out of its way, and had come to visit him, and 
to take him with it. And the Child breathed quick with joy 



THE STORY WITHOUT AN END. 2? I 

and surprise, and then the Will-o'-the-wisp came nearer, and 

10 sat himself down on a damp mossy stone in front of the 
cave, and another fluttered quickly after him, and sat down 

. over against him and sighed deeply, " Thank God, then, that 
I can rest at last ! " 

" Yes," said the other, "for that you may thank the inno- 

15 cent Child who sleeps there within ; it was his pure breath 
that freed us." 

" Are you, then," said the Child, hesitatingly, " not of yon 
stars which wander so brightly there above ? " 

" Oh, if we were stars," replied the first, "we should pur- 

20 sue our tranquil path through the pure element, and should 
leave this wood and the whole darksome earth to itself." 

" And not," said the other, " sit brooding on the face of 
the shallow pool." 

The Child was curious to know who these could be that 

25 shone so beautifully, and yet seemed so discontented. Then 
the first beo;an to relate how he had been a child too, and 
how, as he grew up, it had always been his greatest delight 
to deceive people and play them tricks, to show his wit and 
cleverness. He had always, he said, poured such a stream 

30 of smooth words over people, and encompassed himself with 
such a shining mist, that men had been attracted by it to 
their own hurt. But once on a time there appeared a plain 
man, who only spoke two or three simple words, and sud- 
denly the bright mist vanished, and left him naked and de- 

35 formed, to the scorn and mockery of the whole world. But 
the man had turned away his face from him in pity, while he 
was almost dead with shame and anger. And when he came 
to himself again, he knew not what had befallen him, till, at 
length, he found that it was his fate to hover, without rest 

40 or change, over the surface of the bog as a Will-o'-the-wisp. 
" With me it fell out quite otherwise," said the first : " in- 
stead of giving light without warmth, as I now do, I burned 
without shining. When I was only a child, people gave way 



272 THE STORY WITHOUT AN END. 

to me in everything, so that I was intoxicated with self- 

45 love. If I saw any one shine, I longed to put out his light ; 
and the more intensely I wished this, the more did my own 
small glimmering turn back upon myself, and inwardly burn 
fiercely while all without was darker than ever. But if any 
one who shone more brightly would have kindly given me of 

50 his light, then did my inward flame burst forth to destroy 
him. But the flame passed through the light and harmed 
it not ; it shone only the more brightly, while I was withered 
and exhausted. And once upon a time I met a little smiling 
child, who played with a cross of palm branches, and wore 

55 a beamy coronet around his golden locks. He took me 
kindly by the hand and said, ' My friend, you are now very 
gloomy and sad, but if you will become a child again, even 
as I am, you will have a bright circlet such as I have. 
When I heard that, I was so angry with myself and with 

60 the child, that I was scorched by my inward fire. Now 
would I fain fly up to the sun to fetch rays from him, but 
the rays drove me back with these words : ' Return thither 
whence thou earnest, thou dark fire of envy, for the sun 
lightens only in love ; the greedy earth, indeed, sometimes 

65 turns his mild light into scorching fire. Fly back, then, for 
with thy like alone must thou dwell.' I fell, and when I re- 
covered myself I was glimmering coldly above the stagnant 
waters." 
While they were talking the Child had fallen asleep, for 

70 he knew nothing of the world nor of men, and he could 
make nothing of their stories. Weariness had spoken a 
more intelligible language to him — that he understood, and 
he had fallen asleep. 

XII. 

Softly and soundly he slept, till the rosy morning clouds 
stood upon the mountain, and announced the coming of their 



THE STORY WITHOUT AN END. 273 

lord, the sun. But as soon as the tidings spread over field 
and wood, the thousand-voiced echo awoke, and sleep was 
5 no more to be thought of. 

And soon did the royal sun himself arise ; at first his 
dazzling diadem alone appeared above the mountains ; at 
length he stood upon their summit in the full majesty of his 
beauty, in all the charms of eternal youth, bright and glori- 

10 ous, his kindly glance embracing every creature of earth, 
from the stately oak to the blade of grass bending under the 
foot of the wayfaring man. Then arose from every breast, 
from every throat, the joyous song of praise ; and it was as 
if the whole plain and wood were become a temple, whose 

15 roof was the heaven, whose altar the mountain, whose con- 
gregation all creatures, whose priest the sun. 

But the Child walked forth and was glad, for the birds 
sang sweetly, and it seemed to him as if everything sported 
and danced out of mere joy to be alive. Here flew two 

20 finches through the thicket, and, twittering, pursued each 
other ; there, the young buds burst asunder, and the tender 
leaves peeped out and expanded themselves in the warm sun, 
as if they would abide in his glance forever; here, a dew- 
drop trembled, sparkling and twinkling on a blade of grass, 

25 and knew not that beneath him stood a little moss who was 
thirsting after him; there, troops of flies flew aloft, as if 
they would soar far, far over the wood : and so all was life 
and motion, and the Child's heart joyed to see it. 

He sat down on a little smooth plot of turf, shaded by 

30 the branches of a nut-bush, and thought he should now sip 
the cup of his delight, drop by drop. And first he plucked 
down some brambles which threatened him with their 
prickles ; then he bent aside some branches which concealed 
the view ; then he removed the stones, so that he might 

35 stretch out his feet at full length on the soft turf ; and when 
he had done all this, he bethought himself what was yet to 
do ; and as he found nothing, he stood up to look for his 
18 



274 THE STORY WITHOUT AN END. 

acquaintance the dragon-fly, and to beg her to guide him 
once more out of the wood into the open fields. About^ mid- 
40 way he met her, and she began to excuse herself for having 
fallen asleep in the night. The Child thought not of the 
past, were it even but a minute ago, so earnestly did he now 
wish to get out from among the thick and close trees ; for 
his heart beat high, and he felt as if he should breathe freer 
45 in the open ground. The dragon-fly flew on before and 
showed him the way as far as the outermost verge of the 
wood, whence the Child could espy his own little hut, and 
then flew away to her playfellows. 

XIII. 

The Child walked forth alone upon the fresh, dewy corn- 
field. A thousand little suns glittered in his eyes, and a lark 
soared warbling above his head. And the lark proclaimed 
the joys of the coming year, and awakened endless hopes, 

5 while she soared circling higher and higher, till, at length, 
her song was like the soft whisper of an angel holding con- 
verse with the spring, under the blue arch of heaven. The 
Child had seen the earth-colored little bird rise up before 
him, and it seemed to him as if the earth had sent her forth 

10 from her bosom as a messenger to carry her joy and her 
thanks up to the sun, because he had turned his beaming 
countenance again upon her in love and bounty. And the 
lark hung poised above the hope-giving field, and warbled 
her clear and joyous song. 

15 She sang of the loveliness of the rosy dawn, and the fresh 
brilliancy of the earliest sunbeams ; of the gladsome spring- 
ing of the young flowers, and the vigorous shooting of the 
corn ; and her song pleased the Child beyond measure. 
But the lark wheeled in higher and higher circles, and her 

20 song sounded softer and sweeter. 

And now she sang of the first delights of early love ; of 



THE STORY WITHOUT AN END. 275 

wanderings together on the sunny fresh hilltops, and of the 
sweet pictures and visions that arise out of the blue and 
misty distance. The Child understood not rightly what he 

25 heard, and fain would he have understood, for he thought 
that even in such visions must be wondrous delight. He 
gazed aloft after the unwearied bird, but she had disap- 
peared in the morning mist. 

Then the Child leaned his head on one shoulder to listen 

30 if he could no longer hear the little messenger of spring; 
and he could just catch the distant and quivering notes in 
which she sang of the fervent longing after the clear ele- 
ment of freedom, after the pure all-present light, and of the 
blessed foretaste of this desired enfranchisement, of this 

35 blending in the sea of celestial happiness. 

Yet longer did he listen, for the tones of her song carried 
him there, where, as yet, his thoughts had never reached, and 
he felt himself happier in this short and imperfect flight than 
ever he had felt before. But the lark now dropped suddenly 

40 to the earth, for her little body was too heavy for the ambient 
ether, and her wings were not large nor strong enough for 
the pure element. 

Then the red corn-poppies laughed at the homely-looking 
bird, and cried to one another and to the surrounding blades 

45 of corn in a shrill voice, " Now, indeed, you may see what 
comes of flying so high, and striving and straining after mere 
air ; people only lose their time, and bring back nothing but 
weary wings and an empty stomach. That vulgar-looking ill- 
dressed little creature would fain raise herself above us all, 

50 and has kept up a mighty noise. And now there she lies on 
the ground and can hardly breathe, while we have stood still 
where we are sure of a good meal, and have stayed, like 
people of sense, where there is something substantial to be 
had ; and in the time she has been fluttering and singing, 

55 we have grown a good deal taller and fatter. 

The other little redcaps chattered and screamed their as- 



276 THE STORY WITHOUT AN END. 

sent so loud that the Child's ears tingled, and he wished he 
could chastise them for their spiteful jeers ; when a cyane 
said, in a soft voice, to her younger playmates, " Dear 

60 friends, be not led astray by outward show, nor by discourse 
which regards only outward show. The lark is, indeed, 
weary, and the space into which she has soared is void ; but 
the void is not what the lark sought, nor is the seeker re- 
turned empty home. She strove after light and freedom, and 

65 light and freedom has she proclaimed. She left the earth 
and its enjoyments, but she has drunk of the pure air of 
heaven, and has seen that it is not the earth, but the sun 
that is steadfast. And if earth has called her back, it can 
keep nothing of her but what is its own. Her sweet voice 

70 and her soaring wings belong to the sun, and will enter into 
light and freedom long after the foolish prater shall have 
sunk and been buried in the dark prison of the earth." 

And the lark heard her wise and friendly discourse, and 
with renewed strength she sprang once more into the clear 

75 and beautiful blue. 

Then the Child clapped his little hands for joy, that the 
sweet bird had flown up again, and that the redcaps must 
hold their tongues for shame. 

XIV. 

And the Child was become happy and joyful, and breathed 
freely again, and thought no more of returning to his hut, 
for he saw that nothing returned inwards, but rather that all 
strove outwards into the free air ; the rosy apple blossoms 

5 from their narrow buds, and the gurgling notes from the 
narrow breast of the lark. The germs burst open the folding 
doors of the seeds, and broke through the heavy pressure of 
the earth in order to get at the light ; the grasses tore 
asunder their bands, and their slender blades sprung upward. 

10 Even the rocks were become gentle, and allowed little mosses 






THE STORY WITHOUT AN END. 277 

to peep out from their sides, as a sign that they would not 
remain impenetrably closed for ever. And the flowers sent 
out color and fragrance into the whole world, for they kept 
not their best for themselves, but would imitate the sun and 

15 the stars, which poured their warmth and radiance over the 
spring. And many a little gnat and beetle burst the narrow 
cell in which it was enclosed and crept out slowly, and, half 
asleep, unfolded and shook its tender wings, and soon gained 
strength, and flew off to untried delights. And as the but- 

20 terflies came forth from their chrysalids in all their gayety 
and splendor, so did every humbled and suppressed aspira- 
tion and hope free itself, and boldly launch into the open 
and flowing sea of spring. 



THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

AN ORATION, 

By EDWARD EVERETT. 

DELIVERED AT ALBANY, N. Y., AUGUST 28, 1856. 

PART I. 

It is no affected modesty which leads me "to express the 
regret that this interesting occasion could not have taken 
place under somewhat different auspices. I feel that the 
duty of addressing this great and enlightened assembly, 

5 comprising so much of the intelligence of the community 
and of the science of the country, ought to have been else- 
where assigned ; that it should have devolved upon some 
one of the eminent persons, many of whom I see around 
me, to whom you have been listening the past week, who, 

10 as observers and geometers, could have treated the subject 
with a master's power ; astronomers, whose telescopes have 
penetrated the depths of the heavens, or mathematicians, 
whose analysis unthreads the maze of their wondrous mech- 
anism. If, instead of commanding, as you easily could 

15 have done, qualifications of this kind, your choice has rather 
fallen on one making no pretensions to the honorable 
name of a man of science, — but whose delight it has always 
been to turn aside from the dusty and thankless paths of 
active life, for an interval of recreation in the green fields 

20 of sacred nature in all her kingdoms,— it is, I presume, 
because you have desired, on an occasion of this ldnd, 
necessarily of a popular character, that those views of the 
subject should be presented which address themselves to 
the general intelligence of the community, and not to its 

25 select scientific circles. For astronomy, perhaps to a greater 

278 



THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 279 

extent than any other department of natural science, exhibits 
phenomena which, while they task the highest powers of 
philosophical research, are also well adapted to arrest the 
attention of minds barely tinctured with scientific culture, 

30 and even to touch the sensibilities of the wholly unin- 
structed observer. The profound investigations of the 
chemist into the ultimate constitution of material nature, the 
minute researches of the physiologist into the secrets of 
animal life, the transcendental logic of the geometer, brist- 

35 ling in a notation the very sight of which terrifies the unin- 
itiated, are lost on the common understanding. But the 
unspeakable glories of the rising and the setting sun ; the 
serene majesty of the moon, as she walks in full-orbed 
brightness through the heavens; the soft witchery of the 

40 morning and the evening star; the imperial splendors of the 
firmament on a bright unclouded night ; the comet, whose 
streaming banner floats over half the sky, — these are 
objects which charm and astonish alike the philosopher and 
the peasant; — the mathematician who weighs the masses 

45 and defines the orbits of the heavenly bodies, and the untu- 
tored observer who sees nothing beyond the images painted 
upon the eye. 

An astronomical observatory, in the general acceptation 
of the word, is a building erected for the reception and 

50 appropriate use of astronomical instruments, and the accom- 
modation of the men of science employed in making 
and reducing observations of the heavenly bodies. These 
instruments are mainly of three classes, to which I believe 
all others of a strictly astronomical character may be 

55 referred. 

1st. The instruments by which the heavens are inspected, 
with a view to discover the existence of those celestial 
bodies which are not visible to the naked eye, (beyond all 
comparison more numerous than those which are,) and to 

60 observe the magnitude, shapes and other sensible qualities, 



280 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

both of those which are and those which are not thus vis- 
ible to the unaided sight. The instruments of this class 
are designated by the general name of Telescope ; and are 
of two kinds, — the refracting telescope, which derives its 

65 magnifying power from a system of convex lenses ; and the 
reflecting telescope, which receives the image of the heav- 
enly body upon a concave mirror. 

2d. The second class of instruments consists of those 
which are designed principally to measure the angular dis- 

70 tances of the heavenly bodies from each other, and their time 
of passing the meridian. The transit instrument, the merid- 
ian circle, the mural circle, the heliometer, and the sextant 
belong to this class. The brilliant discoveries of astronomy 
are, for the most part, made with the first class of instru- 

75 ments ; — its practical results wrought out by the second. 

3d. The third class contains the clock, with its subsidi- 
ary apparatus for measuring the time and marking its 
subdivisions with the greatest possible accuracy; — indis- 
pensable auxiliary of all the instruments by which the 

so positions and motions of the heavenly bodies are observed, 
and measured, and recorded. 

The telescope may be likened to a wondrous Cyclopean 
eye, endued with superhuman power, by which the astron- 
omer extends the reach of his vision to the further heavens, 

85 and surveys galaxies and universes, compared with which 
the solar system is but an atom floating in the air. The 
transit may be compared to a measuring rod, which he lays 
from planet to planet and from star to star, to ascertain and 
mark off the heavenly spaces, and transfer them to his note- 

90 book. The clock is the marvelous apparatus by which he 
equalizes and divides into nicely measured parts a portion 
of that unconceived infinity of duration, without beginning 
and without end, in which all existence floats as on a shore- 
less and bottomless sea. 

95 In the contrivance and the execution of these instru- 



THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 28 1 

merits, the utmost stretch of inventive skill and mechanical 
ingenuity has been put forth. To such perfection have they 
been carried, that a single second of magnitude or space is 
rendered a distinctly visible and appreciable quantity. 

100 " The arc of a circle," says Sir J. Herschel, " subtended by 
one second, is less than the two hundred thousandth part of 
the radius, so that on a circle of six feet in diameter, it 
would occupy no greater linear extent than ^o part of an 
inch ; a quantity requiring a powerful microscope to be dis- 

105 cemed at all." The largest body in our system, the sun, 
whose real diameter is 882,000 miles, subtends at a distance 
of 95,000,000 miles, but an angle of a little more than 32'; 
while so admirably are the best instruments constructed, 
that, both in Europe and America, a satellite of Neptune, an 

110 object of comparatively inconsiderable diameter, has been 
discovered at a distance of 2,850 millions of miles. 

The object of an observatory, erected and supplied with 
instruments of this admirable construction and at propor- 
tionable expense, is, as I have already intimated, to provide 

115 for an accurate and systematic survey of the heavenly 
bodies, with a view to a more correct and extensive acquaint- 
ance with those already known, and, as instrumental power 
and skill in using it increase, to the discovery of bodies 
hitherto invisible, and in both classes of objects to the 

120 determination of their distances, their times of passing the 
meridian, their relations to each other, and the laws which 
govern their movements. 

Why should we wish to obtain this knowledge ? What in- 
ducement is there to expend large sums of money in the 

125 erection of observatories, in furnishing them with costly 
instruments, and in the support of the men of science 
employed in making, discussing, and recording, for succes- 
sive generations, these minute observations of the heavenly 
bodies? 

130 In an exclusively scientific treatment of this subject, an 



282 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

inquiry into its utilitarian relations would be superfluous, — 
even wearisome. But on an occasion like the present, you 
will not, perhaps think it out of place, if I briefly answer the 
question, what is the use of an astronomical observatory, and 

135 what benefit may be expected from the operations of such 
an establishment in a community like ours? 

I. In the first place, then, we derive from the observa- 
tions of the heavenly bodies which are made at an observa- 
tory, our only adequate measures of time and our only 

140 means of comparing the time of one place with the time of 
another. Our artificial time-keepers — clocks, watches, and 
chronometers — however ingeniously contrived and admir- 
ably fabricated, are but a transcript, so to say, of the celes- 
tial motions, and would be of no value without the means of 

145 regulating them by observation. It is impossible for them 
under any circumstances to escape the imperfection of all 
machinery, the work of human hands ; and the moment we 
remove with our time-keeper east or west, it fails us. It 
will keep home time alone, like the fond traveler who* leaves 

150 his heart behind him. The artificial instrument is of incal- 
culable utility, but must itself be regulated by the eternal 
clock-work of the skies. 

This single consideration is sufficient to show how com- 
pletely the daily business of life is affected and controlled 

155 by the heavenly bodies. It is they and not our mainsprings, 
our expansion balances, and our compensation pendulums, 
which give us our time. To reverse the line of Pope, — 

'Tis with our watches as our judgments; none 
Go just alike, but each believes his own ; — 

But for all the kindreds and tribes and tongues of men, — 

each upon their own meridian, — from the Arctic pole to the 

160 equator, from the equator to the Antarctic pole, the eternal 

sun strikes twelve at noon, and the glorious constellations, 



THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 283 

far up in the everlasting belfries of the skies, chime twelve 
at midnight ; — twelve for the pale student over his flickering 
lamp, twelve amid the flaming wonders of Orion's belt, if he 

165 crosses the meridian at that fated hour; — twelve by the 
weary couch of languishing humanity, twelve in the star- 
paved courts of the Empyrean ; — twelve for the heaving 
tides of the ocean ; twelve for the weary arm of labor ; 
twelve for the toiling brain ; twelve for the watching, waking, 

ire broken heart ; twelve for the meteor which blazes for a mo- 
ment and expires ; twelve for the comet whose period is 
measured by centuries ; twelve for every substantial, for 
every imaginary thing, which exists in the sense, the intel- 
lect, or the fancy, and which the speech or thought of man, 

its at the given meridian, refers to the lapse of time. 

Not only do we resort to the observation of the heav- 
enly bodies for the means of regulating and rectifying our 
clocks, but the great divisions of day and month and year 
are derived from the same source. By the constitution of 

180 our nature the elements of our existence are closelv con- 
nected with the celestial times. Partly by his physical or- 
ganization, partly by the habit, — second nature, — of the race 
from the dawn of creation, man as he is and the times and 
seasons of the heavenly bodies are part and parcel of one 

185 system. The first great division of time, the day — night 
(nychthemerum). for which we have no precise synonym in 
our language, with its primal alternation of waking and 
sleeping, of labor and rest, is a vital condition of the exist- 
ence of such a creature as man. The revolution of the year, 

190 with its various incidents of summer and winter and seed- 
time and harvest, is not less involved in all our social, ma- 
terial and moral progress. It is true that at the poles and on 
the equator, the effects of these revolutions are variously 
modified or wholly disappear, but as the necessary conse- 

195 quence, human life is extinguished at the poles, and, on 
the equator attains only a languid or feverish development. 



284 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

Those latitudes only, in which the great motions and car- 
dinal positions of the earth exert a mean influence, exhibit 
man in the harmonious expansion of his powers. The lunar 

200 period, which lies at the foundation of the 7nonth, is less 
vitally connected with human existence and development ; 
but is proved by the experience of every age and race to 
be eminently conducive to the progress of civilization and 
culture. 

205 But indispensable as are these heavenly measures of time 
to our life and progress, and obvious as are the phenomena 
on which they rest, yet, owing to the circumstance that, 
in the economy of nature, the day, the month, and the 
year are not exactly commensurable, some of the most diffi- 

210 cult questions in practical astronomy are those, by which an 
accurate division of time, applicable to the various uses of 
man, is derived from the observation of the heavenly bodies- 
I have no doubt that, to the Supreme Intelligence which 
created and rules the universe, there is a harmony hidden 

215 to us in the numerical relation to each other of clays, months, 
and years ; but in our ignorance of that harmony, their 
practical adjustment to each other is a work of difficulty. 
The great embarrassment which attended the reformation 
of the calendar, after the error of the Julian period had, 

220 in the lapse of centuries, reached ten, (or rather twelve) 
days, sufficiently illustrates this remark. It is most true 
that scientific difficulties did not form the chief obstacle. 
Having been proposed under the auspices of the Roman 
Pontiff, the protestant world, for a century and more, re- 

225 jected the new style. It was in various places the subject of 
controversy, collision, and bloodshed. It was not adopted 
in England till nearly two centuries after its introduction at 
Rome ; and in the country of the Struves and the Pulkova 
equatorial, they persist at the present day, for civil purposes, 

230 in adding eleven minutes and twelve seconds to the length 
of the tropical year.- 



THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 285 

II. The second great practical use of an Astronomical 
Observatory is connected with the science of Geography. 
The first page of the history of our continent illustrates this 

235 connection. Profound meditation on the sphericity of the 
earth was one of the main reasons which led Columbus 
to undertake his momentous voyage, and his thorough ac- 
quaintance with the astronomical science of that day was, iti 
his own judgment, what enabled him to overcome the almost 

240 innumerable obstacles which attended its prosecution. In 
return, I find that Copernicus, in the very commencement of 
his immortal work, appeals to the discovery of America as 
completing the demonstrations of the sphericity of the earth. 
Much of our knowledge of the figure, size, density, and posi- 

245 tion of the earth, (as a member of the solar system,) is derived 
from this science, and it furnishes us the means of perform- 
ing the most important operations of practical geography. 
Latitude and longitude, which lie at the basis of all de- 
scriptive geography, are determined by observation. No 

250 map deserves the name, on which the position of important 
points has not been astronomically determined. Some even 
of our most important political and administrative arrange- 
ments depend upon the co-operation of this science. Among 
these I may mention the land-system of the United States, 

255 and the determination of the boundaries of the country. 

I believe that till it was clone by the Federal Government, a 
uniform system of mathematical survey had never in any 
country been applied to an extensive territory. Large grants 
and sales of public land took place before the Revolution 

260 and in the interval between the peace and the adoption of 
the Constitution ; but the limits of these grants and sales 
were ascertained by sensible objects, by trees, streams, rocks^ 
hills, and by reference to adjacent portions of territory, pre- 
viously surveyed. The uncertainty of boundaries thus de- 

265 fined was a never-failing sourse of litigation. Large tracts 
of land in the Western country granted by Virginia, under 



286 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

the old system of special and local survey, were covered with 
conflicting claims, and the controversies to which they gave 
rise formed no small part of the business of the Federal 

270 Court after its organization. But the adoption of the pres- 
ent land-system brought order out of chaos. The entire 
public domain is now scientifically surveyed before it is 
offered for sale ; it is laid off into ranges, townships, sections 
and smaller divisions with unerring accuracy, resting on the 

275 foundation of base and meridian lines ; — and I have been 
informed that under this system, scarce a case of contested 
location and boundary has ever presented itself in court. 
The general land-office contains maps and plans, in which 
every quarter-section of the public land is laid down with 

280 mathematical precision. 

The superficies of half a continent is thus transferred in 
miniature to the bureaus at Washington ; — while the local 
land-offices contain transcripts of these plans, copies of 
which are furnished to the individual purchaser. When we 

285 consider the tide of population annually flowing into the 
public domain, and the immense importance of its efficient 
and economical administration, the utility of this application 
of astronomy will be duly estimated. 

I will here venture to repeat an anecdote which I heard 

290 lately from a son of the late Hon. Timothy Pickering. Mr. 
Octavius Pickering, on behalf of his father, had applied to 
Mr. David Putnam of Marietta, to act as his legal adviser, 
with respect to certain land claims in the Virginia military 
district, in the State of Ohio. Mr. Putnam declined the 

295 agency. He had had much to do with business of that kind 
and found it beset with endless litigation. " I have never," 
he adds, " succeeded but in a single case, and that was a 
location and survey made by General Washington before the 
Revolution, and I am not acquainted with any surveys, except 

300 those made by him, but what have been litigated." 

At this moment, a most important survey of the coast 






THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 287 

of the United States is in progress ; an operation of tne 
utmost consequence, in reference to the geography, com- 
merce, navigation, and hydrography of the country. The 

305 entire work, I need scarce say, is one of practical astronomy. 

The scientific establishment which we this day inaugurate is 

looked to for important co-operation in this great undertaking ; 

— -and will no doubt contribute efficiently to its prosecution. 

Astronomical observation furnishes by far the best means 

3io of defining the boundaries of States, when the lines are of 
great length and run through unsettled countries. Natural 
indications like rivers and mountains, however distinct in 
appearances, are, in practice, subject to unavoidable error. 
By .the treaty of 1783, a boundary was established between 

315 the United States and Great Britain, depending partly on 
the course of rivers and upon the highlands dividing the 
waters which flow into the Atlantic Ocean from those w T hich 
flow into the St. Lawrence. It took twenty years to find out 
which river was the true St. Croix, that being the starting 

320 point. England then having made the extraordinary dis- 
covery that the Bay of Funcly is not a part of the Atlantic 
Ocean, forty years more were passed in the unsuccessful at- 
tempt to recreate the Highlands which this strange doctrine 
had annihilated ; and just as the two countries were on the 

325 verge of a war, the controversy was settled by compromise. 
Had the boundary been accurately described by lines of 
latitude and longitude, no dispute could have arisen. No 
dispute arose as to the boundary between the United States 
and Spain, and her successor, Mexico, where it runs through 

330 untrodden deserts, and over pathless mountains, along the 
forty-second degree of latitude. The identity of rivers may 
be disputed as in the case of the St. Croix; the course of 
mountain chains is too broad for a dividing line ; the divis- 
ions of streams, as experience has shown, is uncertain, but 

335 a degree of latitude is written on the heavenly sphere ; and 
nothing but an observation is required to read the record. 



288 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

But scientific elements, like sharp instruments, must be 
handled with care. A part of our boundary between the 
British Provinces ran upon the forty-fifth degree of latitude ; 

340 and about forty years ago, an expensive fortress was com- 
menced by the government of the United States at Rouse's 
Point on Lake Champlain, on a spot intended to be just 
within our limits. When the line came to be more carefully 
surveyed the fortress turned out to be on the wrong side ; 

345 we had been building an expensive fortification for our 

neighbor. But in the general compromises of the treaty of 

Washington by the Webster and Ashburton Treaty of the 

9th of August, 1842, the fortress was left within our limits. 

Errors still more serious had nearly resulted a few years 

350 since in a war with Mexico. By the treaty of Guadalupe 
Hidalgo, of the 2d of February, 1848, the boundary line 
between the United States and that country was in part 
described by reference to the town of El Paso, as laid down 
on a specified map of the United States, of which a copy 

355 was appended to the treaty. This boundary was to be sur- 
veyed and run by a joint commission of men of science. It 
soon appeared that errors of two or three degrees existed in 
the projection of the map. Its lines of latitude and longitude 
did not conform to the topography of the region ; so that it 

360 was impossible to execute the text of the treaty. The 
famous Mesilla Valley was a part of the debatable ground, 
and the sum of ten millions of dollars paid to the Mexican 
government, for that and for an additional strip of territory 
on the southwest, was the smart-money which expiated the 

365 inaccuracy of the map ; the necessary result perhaps of the 
want of good materials for its construction. Ten millions of 
dollars would have gone a good way toward the expense of a 
National Observatory and of a map of the continent, con- 
structed with entire accuracy. 

370 It became my official duty, in London, a few years ago, to 
apply to the British government for an authentic statement 



THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 289 

of their claim to jurisdiction over New Zealand. The offi- 
cial Gazette for the 2d of October, 1840, was sent me from 
the Foreign office, as affording the desired information. 

375 This number of the Gazette contained the proclamations 
issued by the lieutenant-governor of New Zealand "in pur- 
suance of the instructions he received from the Marquess 
of Normanby, one of Her Majesty's principal Secretaries of 
State," asserting the jurisdiction of his government over the 

380 islands of New Zealand, and declaring them to extend "from 
thirty-four degrees thirty minutes north, to forty-seven de- 
grees ten minutes south latitude." It is scarcely necessary 
to say, that south latitude was intended in both instances. 
This error of sixty-nine degrees of latitude, which would 

385 have extended the claim of British jurisdiction over the whole 
breadth of the Pacific, had apparently escaped the notice of 
that government. 

It would be easy to multiply illustrations of the great prac- 
tical importance of accurate scientific designations drawn 

390 from astronomical observation, in various relations con- 
nected with boundaries, surveys, and other geographical pur- 
poses ; but I must hasten to 

III. A third important department, in which the services 
rendered by astronomy are equally conspicuous. I refer to 

395 commerce and navigation. It is chiefly owing to the results 
of astronomical observation, that modern commerce has 
attained such a vast expansion compared with that of the 
ancient world. I have already reminded you that accurate 
astronomical notions contributed materially to the conception 

400 in the mind of Columbus of his immortal enterprise, and to 
the practical success with which it was conducted. It was 
mainly his skill in the use of astronomical instruments, 
imperfect as they were, which enabled him, in spite of the 
bewildering variations of the compass, to find his way across 

405 the ocean. 

With the progress of the true system of the universe 
19 



29O THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

towards general adoption, the problem of finding the long- 
itude at sea presented itself. This was the avowed object 
of the foundation of the Observatory at Greenwich, and no 

410 one subject has received more of the attention of astrono- 
mers than those investigations of the lunar theory, on which 
the requisite tables of the navigator are founded. The path- 
ways of the ocean are marked out in the sky above. The 
eternal lights of the heavens are the only Pharos whose beams 

415 never fail ; which no tempest can shake from its foundation. 
Within my recollection, it was deemed a necessary qualifica- 
tion for the master and the mate of a merchant-ship, and 
even for a prime hand, to be able to "work a lunar/' as it 
was called. The improvements in the chronometer have in 

420 practice, to a great extent, superseded this laborious opera- 
tion, but observation remains, and unquestionably will for- 
ever remain, the only dependence for ascertaining the ship's 
time and deducing the longitude from the comparison of 
that time with the chronometer. 

425 It may perhaps be thought that astronomical science is 
brought already to such a state of perfection that nothing 
more is to be desired, or at least that nothing more is attain- 
able in reference to such practical applications as I have 
described. This, however, is an idea which generous minds 

430 will reject, in this as in every other department of human 
knowledge. In astronomy, as in everything else, the dis- 
coveries already made, theoretical or practical, instead of ex- 
hausting the science, or putting a limit to its advancement, 
do but furnish the means and instruments of further prog- 

435 ress. I have no doubt we live on the verge of discoveries 
and inventions in every department, as brilliant as any that 
have ever been made ; that there are new truths, new facts 
ready to start into recognition on every side ; and it seems to 
me there never was an age since the dawn of time, when 

440 men ought to be less disposed to rest satisfied with the prog- 
ress already made, than the age in which we live ; for there 



THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 29 1 

never was an age more distinguished for ingenious research, 
for novel results and bold generalization. 

That no further improvement is desirable in the means 

445 and methods of ascertaining the ship's place at sea, no one 
I think will, from experience, be disposed to assert. The last 
time I crossed the Atlantic, I walked the quarter-deck with 
the officer in charge of the noble vessel, on one occasion, 
when we were driving along before a leading breeze and 

450 under a head of steam, beneath a starless sky at midnight at 
the rate, certainly, of ten or eleven miles an hour. There is 
something sublime, but approaching the terrible, in such a 
scene; the rayless gloom, the midnight chill, the awful swell 
of the deep, the dismal moan of the wind through the rig- 

455 ging, the all but volcanic fires within the hold of the ship; 
— I scarce know an occasion in ordinary life in which a 
reflecting mild feels more keenly its hopeless dependence 
on irrational forces beyond its own control. I asked my 
companion how nearly he could determine his ship's place 

460 at sea under favorable circumstances. Theoretically, he 
answered, I think, within a mile ; practically and usually 
within three or four. My next question was, how near do 
you think we may be to Cape Race ? — that dangerous head- 
land which pushes its iron-bound, unlighted bastions from 

465 the shore of Newfoundland far into the Atlantic, first land- 
fall to the homeward-bound American vessel. We must 
said he, by our last observations and reckoning, be within 
three or four miles of Cape Race. A comparison of these 
two remarks, under the circumstances in which we were 

470 placed at the moment, brought my mind to the conclusion, , 
that it is greatly to be wished that the means should be dis- 
covered of finding the ship's place more accurately, or that 
navigators would give Cape Race a little wider berth.- Still 
I do not remember that one of the steam-packets between- 

475 England and America was ever lost upon that formidable 
point, . 



292 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

It appears to me by no means unlikely that, with the 
improvement of instrumental power, and of the means of 
ascertaining the ship's time with exactness, as great an 

480 advance beyond the present state of art and science in find- 
ing a ship's place at sea may take place, as was effected by 
the invention of the reflecting quadrant, the calculation of 
lunar tables, and the improved construction of chronometers. 
In the wonderful versatility of the human mind, the 

485 improvement, when it takes place, will very probably be 
made by paths where it is least expected. The great induce- 
ment of Mr. Babbage to attempt the construction of an en- 
. gine, by which astronomical tables could be calculated, and 
even printed by mechanical means and with entire accuracy, 

490 was the errors in the requisite tables. Nineteen such errors, 

in point of fact, were discovered in an edition of Taylor's 

logarithms printed in 1796 ; some of which might have led to 

the most dangerous results in calculating a ship's place. 

These nineteen errors (of which one only was an error of 

495 the press) w^ere pointed out in trie Nautical Almanac of 
1832. In one of these errata the seat of the error was stated 
to be in cosine of 14 18' 3". Subsequent examination showed 
that there was an error of one second in this correction, 
and accordingly in the Nautical Almanac of the next year a 

500 new correction was necessary. But in making the new cor- 
rection of one second, a new error was committed of ten 
degrees. Instead of cosine 14 18' 2", the correction was 
printed cosine 4 18' 2", making it still necessary, in some 
future edition of the Nautical* Almanac, to insert an 

505 erratum in an erratum of the errata in Taylor's Logarithms. 

In the hope of obviating the possibility of such errors, 

Mr. Babbage projected his calculating, or, as he prefers to 

call it, his difference machine. Although this extraordinary 

undertaking has been arrested in consequence of the enor- 

510 mous expense attending its execution, enough has been 
achieved to show the mechanical possibility of constructing 



THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 293 

an engine of this kind, and even one of far higher powers, 
of which Mr. Babbage has matured the conception, devised 
the notation, and executed in part the drawings, — themselves 

515 an imperishable monument of the genius of the author. 

I happened on one occasion to be in company with this 
highly distinguished man of science, whose social qualities 
are as pleasing as his constructive talent is marvelous, when 
another eminent savant, Count Strzelecki, just returned 

520 from his Oriental and Australian tour, observed that he 
found among the Chinese a great desire to know something 
more of Mr. Babbage's calculating machine, and especially 
whether like their own swanpan it could be made to go into 
the pocket. Mr. Babbage good-humoredly observed that 

525 thus far he had been very much out of pocket with it. 

Whatever advances may be made in astronomical science, 
theoretical or applied, I am strongly inclined to think that 
they will be made in connection with an increased command 
of instrumental power. The natural order in which the 

530 human mind proceeds in the acquisition of astronomical 
knowledge, is minute and accurate observation of the phenom- 
ena of the heavens, the skilful discussion and analysis of 
these observations, and sound philosophy in generalizing 
the results. 

535 In pursuing this course, however, a difficulty presented 
itself, which for ages proved insuperable, and which to the 
'same extent has existed in no other science, namely, that all 
the leading phenomena are in their appearance delusive. It 
is indeed true, that, in all sciences, superficial observation can 

540 only lead, except by chance, to superficial knowledge ; but I 
can know of no branch in which, to the same degree as in 
astronomy, the great leading phenomena are the reverse of 
true, while they yet appeal so strongly to the senses, that 
sagacious philosophers in antiquity who could foretell 

545 eclipses, and who discovered the procession of the equinoxes, 
Still believed that the earth was at rest in the center of the 



294 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

universe, and that all the hosts of heaven performed a daily 
revolution about it as a center. 



PART II. 

It usually happens in scientific progress, that when a great 
fact is at length discovered, it approves itself at once to all 
competent judges. It furnishes a solution to so many 
problems and harmonizes with so many other facts, that all 

5 the other data, as it were, crystallize at once about it. In 
modern times we have often witnessed such an impatience, 
so to say, of great truths to be discovered, that it has fre- 
quently happened that they have been found out simultane- 
ously by more than one individual. A disputed question of 

10 priority is an event of very common occurrence. Not so 
with the true theory of the heavens. So complete is the de- 
ception practiced on the senses, that it failed more than 
once to yield to the .announcement of the truth ; and it was 
only when the visual organs were armed with an almost 

15 preternatural instrumental power, that the great fact found 
admission to the human mind. 

It is supposed that in the very infancy of science, Pythag- 
oras or his disciples explained the apparent motion of the 
heavenly bodies about the earth, by the diurnal revolution 

20 of the earth on its axis. But this theory, though bearing so 
deeply impressed upon it the great seal of truth, simplicity, 
was in such glaring contrast with the evidences of the senses, 
that it failed of acceptance in antiquity or the middle ages. 
It found no favor with minds like those of Aristotle, Archi- 

25 medes, Hipparchus, Ptolemy, or any of the acute and learned 
Arabian or medieval astronomers. All their ingenuity and 
all their mathematical skill was exhausted in the develop- 
ment of a wonderfully complicated and ingenious but erro- 



THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 295 

neous theory. The great master truth, rejected for its 

30 simplicity, lay, disregarded, at their feet. 

At the second dawn of science, the great fact again 
beamed into the mind of Copernicus. Now, at least, in that 
glorious age which witnessed the invention of printing, the 
great mechanical engine of intellectual progress, and the 

35 discovery of America, we may expect that this long hidden 
revelation, a second time proclaimed, will command the 
assent of mankind. But the sensible phenomena were still 
too strong for the theory ; — the glorious delusion of the ris- 
ing and the setting sun could not be overcome. Tycho de 

40 Brahe furnished his observatory with instruments superior 
in number and quality to all that had been collected before ; 
but the great instrument of discovery, which, by augmenting 
the optic power of the eye, enables it to penetrate beyond 
the apparent phenomena and to discern the true constitution 

45 of the heavenly bodies, was wanting at Uranienburg. The 
observations of Tycho, as discussed by Keppler, conducted 
that most fervid, powerful, and sagacious mind to the dis- 
covery of some of the most important laws of the celestial 
motions ; but it was not till Galileo, at Florence, had 

50 pointed his telescope to the sky, that the Copernican system 

could be said to be firmly established in the scientific world. 

On this great name, my friends, assembled as we are to 

dedicate a temple to instrumental Astronomy, we may well 

pause for a moment. 

55 There is much, in every way, in the city of Florence to 
excite the curiosity, to kindle the imagination, and to gratify 
the taste. Sheltered on the north by the vine-clad hills of 
Fiesole, whose Cyclopean walls carry back the antiquary to 
ages before the Roman, before the Etruscan power, the 

60 flowery city (Fiorenza) covers the sunny banks of the Arno 
with its stately palaces. Dark and frowning piles of medi- 
eval structure, a majestic dome, the prototype of St. Peter's 
basilicas which enshrine the ashes of some of the mightiest 



296 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

of the dead, the stone where Dante stood to gaze on the cam- 

65 p ^anile, the house of Michael Angelo, still occupied by a 
descendant of his lineage and name, — his hammer, his 
chisel, his dividers, his manuscript poems, all as if he had 
left them but yesterday ; — airy bridges which seem not so 
much to rest on the earth as to hover over the waters 

to they span ; — the loveliest creations of ancient art, rescued 
from the grave of ages again to " enchant the world ; " — the 
breathing marbles of Michael Angelo, the glowing canvas of 
Raphael and Titian ; — museums rilled with medals and coins 
of every age from Cyrus the Younger, and gems and amulets 

75 and vases from the sepulchres of Egyptian Pharaohs coeval 
with Joseph, and Etruscan Lucumons that swayed Italy 
before the Romans ; — libraries stored with the choicest 
texts of ancient literature ; — gardens of rose and orange and 
pomegranate and myrtle ; — the very air you breathe languid N 

80 with music and perfume, — such is Florence. But among all 
its fascinations addressed to the sense, the memory, and the 
heart, there was none to which I more frequently gave a 
meditative hour during a year's residence, than to the spot 
where Galileo Galilei sleeps beneath the marble floor of 

85 Santa Croce ; no building on which I gazed with greater rev- 
erence, than I did upon the modest mansion at Arcetri, villa 
at once and prison, in which that venerable sage, by com- 
mand of the Inquisition, passed the sad closing years of his 
life; the beloved daughter on whom he had depended to 

90 smooth his passage to the grave laid there before him ; the 
eyes with which he had discovered worlds before unknown, 
quenched in blindness. 

That was the house " where, " says Milton, (another of 
those of whom the world was not worthy,) " I found and 

95 visited the famous Galileo, grown old, — a prisoner to the 
Inquisition, for thinking on astronomy, otherwise than as 
the Dominican and Franciscan licensers thought." Great 
heavens ! what a tribunal ; what a culprit, what a crime ! 



THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 2gj 

Let us thank God, my friends, that we live in the nineteenth 
100 century. Of all the wonders of ancient and modern art, 
statues and paintings, and jewels and manuscripts, the admi- 
ration and the delight of ages, — there was nothing which I 
beheld with more affectionate awe, than that poor rough 
tube, a few feet in length, the work of his own hands, that 
105 very " optic glass," through which the " Tuscan Artist " 
viewed the moon, 

"At evening from the top of Fesole 
Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, 
Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe : " 

that poor little spy-glass (for it is scarcely more) through 
which the human eye first distinctly beheld the surface of 
the moon, — first discovered the phases of Venus, the satel- 

110 lites of Jupiter, and the seeming handles of Saturn, — first 
penetrated the dusky depths of the heavens, — first pierced 
the clouds of visual error, which, from the creation of the 
world, involved the system of the Universe. 

There are occasions in life in which a great mind lives 

115 years of rapt enjoyment in a moment. I can fancy the emo- 
tions of Galileo, when first raising the newly constructed 
telescope to the heavens, he saw fulfilled the grand prophecy 
of Copernicus, and beheld the planet Venus crescent like 
the moon. It was such another moment as that when the 

120 immortal printers of Mentz and Strasburg received the first 
copy of the Bible into their hands, the work of their divine 
Art ;— like that when Columbus, through the gray dawn of 
the 1 2th October, 1492, (Copernicus, at the age of eighteen, 
was then a student at Cracow,) beheld the shores of San Sal- 

125 vador; — like that when the law of gravitation first revealed 
itself to the intellect of Newton ; like that when Franklin saw 
by the stiffening fibres of the hempen cord of his kite, that 
he held the lightning in his grasp; — like that when Lever- 



298 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

rier received back from Berlin the tidings that the predicted 

130 planet was found. 

Yes, noble Galileo, thou art right, E pur si muove. "It 
does move." Bigots may make thee recant it ; but it moves 
nevertheless. Yes, the earth moves, and the planets move, 
and the mighty waters move, and the great sweeping tides 

135 of air move, and the empires of men move, and the world 
of thought moves, ever onward and upward to higher facts 
and bolder theories. The Inquisition may seal thy lips, but 
they can no more stop the progress of the great truth pro- 
pounded by Copernicus and demonstrated by thee, than they 

140 can stop the revolving earth. 

Close now, venerable sage, that sightless, tearful eye ; it 
has seen what man never before saw; — it has seen enough. 
Hang up that poor little spy-glass ; it has clone its work. 
Not Herschel, nor Rosse, has comparatively done more. 

145 Franciscans and Dominicans deride thy discoveries now, but 
the time will come when from two hundred observatories in 
Europe and America the glorious artillery of science shall 
nightly assault the skies, but they shall gain no conquests in 
those glittering fields before which thine shall be forgotten. 

150 Rest in peace, great Columbus of the heavens, like him 
scorned, persecuted, broken hearted; in other ages, in dis- 
tant hemispheres, when the votaries of science, with solemn 
acts of consecration, shall dedicate their stately edifices to 
the cause of knowledge and truth, thy name shall be men- 

155 tioned with honor ! 

It is not my intention, in dwelling with such emphasis 
upon the invention of the telescope to ascribe undue impor- 
tance, in promoting the advancement of science, to tfte in- 
crease of instrumental power. Too much, indeed, cannot be 

160 said of the service rendered by its first application in con- 
firming and bringing into general repute the Copernican sys- 
tem ; but for a considerable time, little more was effected by 
the wondrous instrument, than the gratification of curiosity 



THE USES OE ASTRONOMY. 2q§ 

and taste by the inspection of the planetary phases, and the 

165 addition of the rings and satellites of Saturn to the solar fam- 
ily. Newton, prematurely despairing of any further improve- 
ment in the refracting telescope, applied the principle of 
reflection, and the nicer observations now made, no doubt 
hastened the maturity of his great discovery of the law of 

iro gravitation ; but that .discovery was the work of his transcen- 
dent genius and consummate skill. 

With Bradley in 1741, a new period commenced in instru- 
mental astronomy, not so much of discovery as of measure- 
ment. The superior accuracy and minuteness, with which 

175 the motions and distances of the heavenly bodies were now 
observed, resulted in the accumulation of a mass of new 
materials both for tabular comparison and theoretical spec- 
ulation. These materials formed the enlarged basis of 
astronomical science between Newton and Sir William Her- 

180 schel. His gigantic reflectors introduced the astronomer to 
regions of space before unvisited, extended beyond all pre- 
vious conception the range of the observed phenomena, and 
with it proportionably enlarged the range of constructive 
theory. The discovery of a new primary planet and its 

185 attendant satellites was but the first step of his progress 
into the labyrinth of the heavens. Contemporaneously with 
his observations, the French astronomers, and especially La- 
Place, w r ith a geometrical skill scarcely if at all inferior to 
that of its great author, resumed the whole system of New- 

190 ton, and brought every phenomenon observed since his time 
within its laws. Difficulties of fact with which he struggled 
in vain, gave way to more accurate observations, and prob- 
lems that defied the power of his analysis yielded to the 
modern improvements of the calculus. 

195 But there is no ultima Thule in the progress of science. 
With the recent augmentations of telescopic power, the de- 
tails of the nebular theory proposed by Sir \V. Herschel with 
such courage and ingenuity have been drawn in question. 



300 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

Many — most — of those milky patches in which he beheld 

300 what he regarded as cosmical matter, as yet in an unformed 
state,—- the rudimental material of worlds not yet condensed, 
— have been resolved into stars as bright and distinct as any 
in the firmament. I well recall the glow of satisfaction, with 
which on the 22d of September, 1847, being then connected 

205 with the University at Cambridge, I received a letter from 
the venerable director of the observatory there, beginning 
with these memorable words : " You will rejoice with me that 
the great nebula in Orion has yielded to the powers of our 
incomparable telescope ! It should be borne in mind, that 

210 this nebula, and that of Andromeda [which has been also re- 
solved at Cambridge] are the last strongholds of the nebular 
theory." 

But if some of the adventurous speculations built by Sir 
William Herschel on the bewildering levelations of his tele- 

215 scope have been since questioned, the vast progress which 
has been made in sidereal astronomy, (to which, as I under- 
stand, the Dudley Observatory will be particulary devoted,) 
the discovery of: the parallax of the fixed stars, the investi- 
gations of the interior relations of binary and triple systems 

220 of stars, the theories for the explanation of the extraordinary, 
not to say fantastic, shapes discerned in some of the nebulous 
systems, — whirls and spirals radiating through spaces as vast 
as the orbit of Neptune, — the glimpses at systems beyond 
that to which our sun belongs, — these are all splendid results 

225 which may fairly be attributed to the school of Herschel, 
and will forever insure no secondary place to that name in 
the annals of science. 

In the remarks which I have hitherto made, I have had 
mainly in view the direct connection of astronomical science 

230 with the uses of life and the service of man. But a generous 
philosophy contemplates the subject in higher relations. It 
is a remark as old at least as Plato, and is repeated from him 
more than once by Cicero, that all the liberal arts have a 



THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 30I 

common bond and relationship. The different sciences 

235 contemplate as their immediate object the different depart- 
ments of animate and inanimate nature ; but this great system 
itself is but one. Its various parts are so interwoven with 
each other, that the most extraordinary relations and unex- 
pected analogies are constantly presenting themselves; and 

240 arts and sciences seemingly the least connected, render to 
each other the most effective assistance. 

The history of electricity, galvanism, and magnetism, fur- 
nishes the most striking illustration of this remark. Com- 
mencing with the meteorological phenomena of our own 

245 atmosphere, and terminating with the observation of the 
remotest heavens, it may well be adduced on an occasion 
like the present. Franklin demonstrated the identity of light- 
ning and electric fluid. This discovery gave a great impulse 
to electrical research, with little else in view but the means 

250 of protection from the thundercloud. A purely accidental cir- 
cumstance led the physician Galvani at Bologna to trace the 
mysterious element, under conditions entirely novel both of 
development and application. In this new form, it became, in 
the hands of Davy, the instrument of the most extraordinary 

255 chemical operations ; and earths and alkalies, touched by the 
creative wire, started up into metals that float on water, and 
kindle in the air. At a later period, the closest affinities are 
observed between electricity and magnetism, on the one 
hand; while on the other, the relations of polarity are 

2G0 detected besween acids and alkalies. Plating and gilding 
henceforth become electrical processes. In the last applica- 
tions of the same subtle medium, it has become the messen- 
ger of intelligence across the land and beneath the sea; and 
is now employed by the astronomer to ascertain the differ- 

265 ence of longitudes, to transfer the beats of the clock from 
one station to another, and to record the moment of his 
observations with automatic accuracy. How large a share 
has been borne by America in these magnificent discoveries 



302 . THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

and applications, among the most brilliant achievements 

270 of modern science, will sufficiently appear from the repeti- 
tion of the names of Franklin, Henry, Morse, Walker, 
Mitchell, Lock, and Bond. 

It has sometimes happened, whether from the harmonious 
relations to each other of the different departments of sci- 

275 ence, or from rare felicity of individual genius, that the 
most extraordinary intellectual versatility has been mani- 
fested by the same person. Although Newton's transcend- 
ent talent did not blaze out in childhood, yet as a boy he 
discovered great aptitude for mechanical contrivance. His 

280 water-clock, self-moving vehicle, and mill were the wonder 
of the village ; the latter propelled by a living mouse. Sir 
David Brewster represents the accounts as differing, whether 
the mouse was made to advance " by a string attached to 
its tail," or by " its unavailing attempts to reach a portion 

285 of corn placed above the wheel." It seems more reasonable 
to conclude that the youthful discoverer of the law of gravi- 
tation intended, by the combination of these opposite at- 
tractions, to produce a balanced movement. It is consoling 
to the average mediocrity of the race to perceive in these 

290 sportive essays, that the mind of Newton passed through 
the stage of boyhood. But emerging from boyhood, what a 
bound it made as from earth to heaven ! Soon after 
commencing Bachelor of Arts, at the age of twenty-four, he 
untwisted the golden and silver threads of the solar spec- 

295 trum ; simultaneously, as soon after, conceived the method of 
fluxions ; and arrived at the elemental idea of universal grav- 
ity, before he had passed to his Master's degree. Master of 
arts, indeed ! That degree, if no other, was well bestowed. 
Universities are unjustly accused of fixing science in 

300 stereotype. That diploma is enough of itself to redeem the 
honors of academical parchment from centuries of learned 
dullness and scholastic dogmatism. 

But the great object of all knowledge is to enlarge and 



THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 303 

purify the soul, to fill the mind with noble contemplations, 

305 and to furnish a refined pleasure. Considering this as the 
ultimate end of science, no branch of it can surely claim 
precedence of astronomy. No other science furnishes such 
a palpable embodiment of the abstractions which lie at the 
foundation of our intellectual system ; the great ideas of time, 

310 and space, and extension, and magnitude, and number, and 
motion, and power. How grand the conception of the ages on 
ages required for several of the secular equations of the solar 
system ; of distances, from which the light of a fixed star 
would not reach us in twenty millions of years ; of magnitudes 

315 compared with which the earth is but a football ; of starry 
hosts, suns like our own, numberless as the sands on the 
shore ; of worlds and systems shooting through the infinite 
spaces, with a velocity compared with which the cannon- 
ball is a way-worn, heavy-paced traveler ! 

320 Much, however, as we are indebted to our observatories 
for elevating our conceptions of the heavenly bodies, they 
present even to the unaided sight scenes of glory which 
words are too feeble to describe. I had occasion, a few 
weeks since, to take the early train from Providence to Bos- 

325 ton ; and for this purpose rose at two o'clock in the morning. 
Every thing around was wrapt in darkness and hushed in 
silence, broken only by what seemed at that hour the un- 
earthly clank and rush of the train. It was a mild, serene, 
midsummer's night, — the sky was without a cloud, — the 

330 winds were whist. The moon, then in the last quarter, had 
just risen, and the stars shone with a spectral luster but 
little affected by her presence. Jupiter, two hours high, was 
the herald of the day ; the Pleiades just above the horizon 
shed their sweet influence in the east; Lyra sparkled near 

335 the zenith ; Andromeda veiled her newly-discovered glo- 
ries from the naked eye in the south ; the steady pointers far 
beneath the pole looked meekly up from the depths of the 
north to their sovereign. 



304 The uses of Astronomy. 

Such was the glorious spectacle as I entered the train. 

340 As we proceeded, the timid approach of twilight became 
more perceptible ; the intense blue of the sky began to soften ; 
the smaller stars like little children, went first to rest; 
the sister-beams of the Pleiades soon melted together ; but 
the bright constellations of the west and north remained 

345 unchanged. Steadily the wondrous transfiguration went on. 
Hands of angels hidden from mortal eyes shifted the scenery 
of the heavens ; the glories of night dissolved into the glo- 
ries of the dawn. The blue sky now turned more softly gray ; 
the great watch-stars shut up their holy eyes ; the east began 

350 to kindle. Faint streaks of purple soon blushed along the 
sky ; the whole celestial concave was filled with the inflow- 
ing tides of the morning light, which came pouring down 
from above in one great ocean of radiance ; till at length, as 
we reached the Blue Hills, a flash of purple fire blazed out 

355 from above the horizon, and turned the dewy tear-drops of 
flower and leaf into rubies and diamonds. In a few sec- 
onds, the everlasting gates of the morning were thrown wide 
open, and the lord of day, arrayed in glories too severe for 
the gaze of man, began his state. 

360 T do not wonder at the superstition of the ancient Magians, 
who in the morning of the world went up to the hill tops of 
Central Asia, and, ignorant of the true God, adored the 
most glorious work of his hand. But I am filled with amaze- 
ment, when I am told that in this enlightened age, and in 

365 the heart of the Christian world, there are persons who can 
witness this daily manifestation of the power and wisdom of 
the Creator, and yet say in their hearts, " there is no God." 

Numerous as are the heavenly bodies visible to the naked 
eye, and glorious as are their manifestations, it is probable that 

370 in our own system there are great numbers as yet undiscov- 
ered. Just two hundred years ago this year, Huyghens 
announced the discovery of one satellite of Saturn, and ex- 
pressed the opinion that tTSe six planets and six satellites 



THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 305 

then known, and making up the perfect number of twelve, 

375 composed the whole of our planetary system. In 1729, an 
astronomical writer came to the conclusion that there might 
be other bodies in our system, but that the limit of telescopic 
power had been reached, and no further discoveries were 
likely to be made. The orbit of one comet only had been 

380 definitely calculated. Since that time the power of the 
telescope has been indefinitely increased ; — two primary 
planets of the first class, ten satellites, and forty-three small 
planets revolving between Mars and Jupiter have been 
discovered, the orbits of six or seven hundred comets, some 

385 of brief period, have been ascertained; — and it has been 
computed that hundreds of thousands of these mysterious 
bodies wander through our system. There is no reason to 
think that all the primary planets which revolve about the 
sun, have been discovered. An indefinite increase in the 

390 number of asteroids may be anticipated ; while outside of 
Neptune, between our sun and the nearest fixed star, sup- 
posing the attraction of the sun to prevail through half the 
distance, there is room for ten more primary planets, suc- 
ceeding each other at distances increasing in a geometrical 

395 ratio. The first of these will unquestionably be discovered 
as soon as the perturbations of Neptune shall have been 
accurately observed; — and with maps of the heavens, on 
which the smallest telescopic stars are laid down, any one of 
them may be discovered much sooner. 

400 But it is when we turn our observation and our thoughts 
from our own system, to the systems which lie beyond it in 
the heavenly spaces, that we approach a more adequate 
conception of the vastness of Creation. All analogy teaches 
us that the sun which gives light to us is but one of those 

405 countless stellar fires which deck the firmament, and that 

every glittering star in that shining host is the center of a 

system, as vast and as full of subordinate luminaries as our 

own. Of these suns, — centers of planetary systems, — thou- 

20 



306 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

sands are visible to the naked eye, millions are discovered by 

4io the telescope. Sir John Herschel, in the account of his 
operations at the Cape of Good Hope, calculates that about 
five and a half millions of stars are visible enough to be 
distinctly counted in a twenty foot reflector in both hemis- 
pheres. He adds, " that the actual number is much greater, 

415 there can be little doubt." His illustrious father estimated 
on one occasion that 125,000 stars passed through the field 
of his forty foot reflector in a quarter of an hour. This 
would give 12,000,000 for the entire circuit of the heavens, 
in a single telescopic zone ; and this estimate was made 

420 under the assumption that the nebulae were masses of lumi- 
nous matter not yet condensed into suns. 

These stupendous calculations, however, form but the first 
column of the inventory of the universe. Faint white specks 
are visible even to the naked eye of a practiced observer in 

425 different parts of the heavens. Under high magnifying 
powers, several thousands - of such spots are visible, — no 
longer, however, faint white specks, but many of them re- 
solved by powerful telescopes into vast aggregations of stars, 
each of which may with propriety be compared with the 

430 milky way of our system. Many of these nebulae, however, 
resisted the power of Sir Wm. Herschel's great reflector, and 
were accordingly still regarded by him as masses of unformed 
luminous matter. This, till a few years since, was perhaps 
the prevailing opinion, — and the nebular theory filled a large 

435 space in modern astronomical science. But with the in- 
crease of instrumental power, especially under the mighty 
grasp of Lord Rosse's gigantic reflector and the great re- 
fractors at Pulkova and Cambridge, the most irresolvable of 
these nebulae have given away ; and the better opinion now 

440 is, that every one of them is a galaxy, like our own milky 
way, composed of millions of suns. In other words, we are 
brought to the bewildering conclusion, that thousands of these 
misty specks, the greater part of them too faint to be seen 



THE USES OF ASTRONOMY, 307 

by the naked eye, are not each a universe like our solar sys- 

445 tern, but each a ;; swarm " of universes of unappreciable mag- 
nitude. The mind sinks overpowered by the contemplation. 
We repeat die words, but they no longer convey distinct 
ideas to the understanding. 

But these conclusions, however vast their comprehension, 

450 carry us but another step forward in the realms of sidereal 

astronomy. A proper motion in space of our sun and of the 

fixed stars, as we call them, has long been believed to exist. 

Their vast distances only prevent its being more apparent. 

The great improvement which has taken place in instru- 

455 meats of measurement within the last generation, has not 
only established the existence of this motion but has pointed 
to the region in the starry vault, around which our whole 
solar and stellar system, with its myriad of attendant plane- 
tary worlds, appears to be performing a mighty revolution. 

4C0 If ? then, we assume that outside of the system to which we 
belong, and in which our sun is but a star like Aldebaran or 
Sirius, the different nebulae of which we have spoken, thou- 
sands of which spot the heavens, constitute each a distinct 
family of universes, we must, following the guide of analogy, 

465 attribute to each of them also, beyond all the revolutions of 
their individual attendant planetary systems, a great revolu- 
tion, comprehending the whole ; while the same course of 
analogical reasoning would lead us still further onward, and 
in the last analysis, require us to assume a transcendental 

470 connection between all these mighty systems, — a universe of 
universes, circling round in the infinity of space, and preserv- 
ing its equilibrium by the same laws of mutual attraction, 
which bind the lower worlds together. 

It may be thought that conceptions like these are calcu- 

475 lated rather to depress than to elevate us in the scale of 
being; that banished as he is by these contemplations to a 
corner of creation, and there reduced to an atom, man sinks 
to nothingness in this infinity of worlds. But a second 



308 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

thought corrects this impression. These vast contempla- 

480 tions are well calculated to inspire awe, but not abasement. 
Mind and matter are incommensurable. An immortal soul, 
even while clothed in " this muddy vesture of decay," is in the 
eye of God and reason, a purer essence than the brightest sun 
that lights the depths of heaven. The organized human eye, 

485 instinct with life and spirit, which, gazing through the tele- 
scope, travels up to the cloudy speck in the handle of 
Orion's sword, and bids it blaze forth into a galaxy as vast 
as ours, stands higher in the order of being than all that host 
of luminaries. The intellect of Newton, which discovered 

490 the law that holds the revolving worlds together, is a nobler 
work of God than a universe of universes of unthinking 
matter. 

If still treading the loftiest paths of analogy, we adopt the 
supposition, — to me I owe the grateful supposition, — that the 

495 countless planetary worlds which attend these countless 
suns, are the abodes of rational beings like man, instead of 
bringing back from this exalted conception a feeling of insig- 
nificance, as if the individuals of our race were but poor 
atoms in the infinity of being, I regard it, on the contrary, 

500 as a glory of our human nature, that it belongs to a family 
which no man can number, of rational natures like itself. 
In the order of being they may stand beneath us, or they 
may stand above us ; he may well be content with his place 
who is made " a little lower than the angels." 

505 Finally, my friends, I believe there is no contemplation 
better adapted to awaken devout ideas than that of the heav- 
enly bodies ; no branch of natural science which bears clearer 
testimony to the power and wisdom of God, than that to 
which you this day consecrate a temple. The heart of the 

510 ancient world, with all the prevailing ignorance of the true 
nature and motions of the heavenly orbs, was religiously im-' 
pressed by their survey. There is a passage in one of those 
admirable philosophical treatises of Cicero, composed in the 



THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 309 

decline of life, as a solace under domestic bereavement and 

515 patriotic concern at the impending convulsions of the state, 
. in which, quoting from some lost work of Aristotle, he treats 
the topic in a manner which almost puts to shame the teach- 
ings of Christian wisdom : — 

" Nobly does Aristotle observe, that if there were beings 

520 who had always lived underground, in convenient, nay, 
magnificent dwellings, adorned with statues and pictures, and 
every thing which belongs to prosperous life, but who had 
never come above ground, — who had heard, however, by 
fame and report, of the being and power of the gods, — if at 

525 a certain time, the portals of the earth being thrown open, 
they had been able to emerge from those hidden abodes to 
the regions inhabited by us ; when suddenly they had seen, 
the earth, the seas, and the sky ; had perceived the vastness 
of the clouds and the force of the winds ; had contemplated 

530 the sun, his magnitude and his beauty, and still more his 
effectual power, that it is he who makes the day by the diffu- 
sion of his light through the whole sky ; and when night had 
darkened the earth, should then behold the whole heavens 
studded and adorned with stars, and the various lights of the 

535 waxing and waning moon, the risings and the settings of all 
these heavenly bodies, and their courses fixed and immuta- 
ble in all eternity; when, I say, they should see these things, 
truly they would believe that there are gods, and that these, 
so great things, are their works." 

mo There is much by day to engage the attention of the ob- 
servatory ; the sun, his apparent motions, his dimensions, the 
spots on his disc, (to us the faint indications of movements 
of unimagined grandeur in his luminous atmosphere,) a solar 
eclipse, a transit of the inferior planets, the mysteries of the 

545 spectrum ; all phenomena of vast importance and interest. 
But night is the astronomer's accepted time ; he goes to his 
delightful labors when the busy world goes to its rest. A 
dark pall spreads over the resorts of active life ; terrestrial 



3IO THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

objects, hill and valley, and rock and stream, and the abodes 

550 of men disappear ; but the curtain is drawn up which con- 
cealed the heavenly hosts. There they shine and there they 
move, as they moved and shone to the eyes of Newton and 
Galileo, of Keppler and Copernicus, of Ptolemy and Hip- 
parchus ; yea, as they moved and shone when the morning 

555 stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy. 
All has changed on earth ; but the glorious heavens remain 
unchanged. The plow passes over the site of mighty 
cities, the homes of powerful nations are desolate, the 
languages they spoke are forgotten ; but the stars that shone 

560 for them are shining for us ; the same eclipses run their 
steady cycle ; the same equinoxes call out the flowers of 
spring and send the husbandman to the harvest ; the sun 
pauses at either tropic as he did when his course began ; and 
sun and moon, and planet and satellite, and star and con- 

565 stellation and galaxy, still bear witness to the power, the 
wisdom, and the love which placed them in the heavens, and 
upholds them there. 



SECOND INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 

ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 

Fellow-countrymen: — At this second appearing to take 
the oath of the Presidential office there is less occasion for 
an extended address than there was at first. Then, a state- 
ment, somewhat in detail, of a course to be pursued seemed 

5 very fitting and proper. Now, at the expiration of four years, 
during which public declarations have been constantly 
called forth on every point and phase of the great contest 
which still absorbs the attention and engrosses the energies 
of the nation, little that is new could be presented. The 

10 progress of our arms, upon which all else chiefly depend, is as 

well known to the public as to myself, and it is, I trust, 

reasonably satisfactory and encouraging, to all. With high 

hope for the future, no 'prediction in regard to it is ventured. 

On the occasion corresponding to this, four years ago, 

is all thoughts were anxiously directed to an impending civil 
war. All dreaded it, all sought to avoid it. While the 
inaugural address was being delivered from this place, 
devoted all together to saving the Union without war, in- 
surgent agents were in the city, seeking to destroy it with- 

20 out war — seeking to dissolve the Union and divide the 
effects by negotiation. Both parties deprecated war; but 
one of them would make war rather than let the nation 
survive, and the other would accept war rather than let it 
perish, and the war came. 

25 One eighth of the whole population were colored slaves, 
not distributed generally over the Union, but localized in 
the southern part of it. These slaves constituted a peculiar 
and powerful interest. All knew that this interest was 

3* 1 



3 1 2 SECOND IN A UGURAL ADDRESS. 

somehow the cause of the war. To strengthen, perpetuate, 

30 and extend this interest was the object for which the insur- 
gents would rend the Union by war, while the Government 
claimed no right to do more than to restrict the territorial 
enlargement of it. 

Neither party expected for the war the magnitude or the 

35 duration which it has already attained. 

Neither anticipated that the cause of the conflict might 
cease with or even before the conflict itself should cease. 
Each looked for an easier triumph and a result less funda- 
mental and astounding. Both read the same Bible, and 

40 pray to the same God, and each invokes His aid against the 
other. It may seem strange that any men should dare to 
ask a just God's assistance in wringing their bread from the 
sweat of other men's faces. But let us judge not, that we 
be not judged. The prayer of both could not be answered. 

45 That of neither has been answered fully. The Almighty 
has his own purposes. " Woe unto the world because of 
offenses ; for it must needs be that offenses come; but woe 
to that man by whom the offense cometh ! " 

If we shall suppose that American slavery is one of these 

so offenses which in the providence of God must needs come, 
but which having continued through his appointed time, he 
now wills to remove, and that he gives to both North and 
South this terrible war as the woe due to those by whom 
the offense came, shall we discern therein any departure 

55 from those divine attributes which the believers in a living 
God always ascribe to him ? 

Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray, that this 
mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet, if 
God wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the 

60 bondsman's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil 
shall be sunk and until every drop of blood drawn with the 
lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was 
said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said that 



SECOND IN A UGURA L ADDRESS. 3 1 3 

the " judgments of the Lord are true and righteous al- 

65 together." 

With malice towards none, with charity for all, with firm- 
ness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us 
strive on, to finish the work we are in, to bind up the 
nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the 

70 battle, and for his widow and his orphans, to do all which 
may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among 
ourselves and with all nations. 



SPEECH AT THE DEDICATION 

OF THE 

NATIONAL CEMETERY AT GETTYSBURG. 

ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
November 15, 1863. 

Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth 
upon this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and 
dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. 
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether 
5 that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, 
can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of 
that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field 
as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives 
that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and 

10 proper that we should do this. But in a larger sense we 
cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow 
this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who strug- 
gled here, have consecrated it far above our power to add 
or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember, 

15 what we say here ; but it can never forget what they did 
here. It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here to 
the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus 
far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here 
dedicated to the great task remaining before us, that from 

20 these honored dead we take increased devotion to that 
cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion ; 
that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have 
died in vain ; that this nation, under God, shall have a new 
birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the 

25 people, and for the people, shall not perish from the earth. 

3 J 4 



NOTES ON THE TEXT. 

The Great Carbuncle, 

BY 
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 

Author. Nathaniel Haw'thorne, one of the most distinguished of 
American writers, was born at Salem, Mass., on the 4th of July, 1804. He 
was graduated at Bowdoin College in 1825, the poet Longfellow being one 
of his classmates. While in college he formed an intimate friendship with 
Franklin Pierce, afterwards President of the United States. Hawthorne 
was appointed surveyor of customs at Salem in 1846, and held that position 
for three years. In 1853, his friend, President Pierce, appointed him to the 
lucrative post of United States consul for Liverpool. He held this place for 
four vears, and its large income relieved Hawthorne's hitherto straitened 
circumstances and enabled him to spend some time traveling on the conti- 
nent of Europe. To this residence abroad we owe some of the finest of 
Hawthorne's writings: notably Our Old Home, and the Notes. Haw- 
thorne's most celebrated books are the Scarlet Letter, House of Seven 
Gables, Marble Faun, Twice Told Tales, and Mosses from an Old 
Manse. Some object to a morbid tone that pervades much of his work ; 
"but," it has been well said, "all must concede to him not only great orig- 
inality, but a rare power of subtle analysis, a delicate and exquisite humor, 
and a marvelous felicity in the use of language. His style, indeed may be 
said to combine almost every excellence — elegance, simplicity, grace, clear- 
ness and force." Hawthorne died May 19, 1864. 

Origin of the Great Carbuncle. In his Sketches from Memory, a 
chapter in the Mosses from an Old Manse, Hawthorne says : " There are 
few legends more poetical than that of the Great Carbuncle, of the White 
Mountains. The belief was communicated to the English settlers, and is 
hardly yet extinct, that a gem of such immense size as to be seen shining 
miles away, hangs from a rock over a clear, deep lake high up among the 
hills. They who once beheld its splendor were enthralled with an unutter- 
able yearning to possess it. But a spirit guarded that inestimable jewel and 
bewildered the adventurer with a dark mist from the enchanted lake. Thus 
life was worn away in the vain search for an unearthly treasure, till at 
length the deluded one went up the mountain, still sanguine as in youth, 



316- NOTES ON THE TEXT 

but returned no more. On this theme, methinks, I could frame a tale with 
a deep moral." 

Line n. Am'-on-oo'-suck. There are three rivers bearing this name in 
New Hampshire, distinguished by the titles, the Upper, the Lower and the 
Wild. The Upper Amonoosuck is the one referred to here. 

Line 51. Saco. A river of New Hampshire that rises in the White 
Mountains, flows in a southeasterly direction into Maine, and empties into 
the Atlantic. 

Line 113. Capt. Smith. This is the famous Capt. John Smith, the 
founder of Virginia. The romantic story of the saving of his life by 
Pocahontas, the daughter of Powhatan, has done much to preserve his 
name, although he was a man of great enterprise, skill and daring, and pos- 
sessed of high qualities of leadership. He was born in England in t 579 and 
died in 1631. 

Line 206. Great Mogul (M5-gul'). A title given to the Tartar emper- 
ors of Delhi, India. Mogul is a corruption of Mongol, the name applied to 
these Tartar tribes The Great Mogul lived in great splendor at Delhi, and 
were supposed to be possessors of diamonds of marvelous size and bril- 
liancy. After the conquest of Delhi to the English in 1827, these emper- 
ors became dependents and pensioners of the British crown. The last of 
the line was deposed in 1858. 

Line 233. Grub Street. The former title of Milton Street, Cripple- 
gate, London, and once the residence of needy and unfortunate writers, who 
were made a jest and a by-word to their more fortunate and successful 
brethren of the pen under the title of Grub Street men. 

" Not with less glory, mighty Dulness crown d 
Shall take through Grub Street her triumphant round, 
And, her Parnassus glancing o'er at once, 
Behold a hundred sons, and each a dunce.' 1 

Dunciad, Alex. Pope. 

Line 277. Rerum Natura (Re-rum Na-tu'-ra), In the nature of 
things. 

Line 541. As duly as a Persian idolater. The ancient Persians 
were followers of Zoroaster, and worshiped the Sun. In the morning they 
turned in adoration to the east to worship the rising luminary. The Parsees 
of India practice the same rites to-day. 

Line 544. The Great Fire of London, (Sept. 2-6, 1666), broke out 



NOTES ON THE TEXT. 3 1 7 

accidentally in a house near London Bridge ; a strong east wind caused it to 
spread with great rapidity, and for some days London was given up to the 
flames. 'Two-thirds of the city was destroyed, including eighty-nine churches, 
among which was St. Paul's Cathedral, and more than thirteen thousand 
houses. The present St. Paul's was rebuilt by Sir Christopher Wren in the 
period between 1675 aR d 1710. 



Dolph Heyliger, 

BY 
WASHINGTON IRVING. 

Author. Washington Irving was born in the city of New York 
April 3, 1783. He left school to begin the study of law in 1800. Ill 
health interrupted his course and for two years he traveled in 
England and on the continent of Europe. Soon after his return he was 
admitted to the bar ; but he never seriously pursued that profession. 
Showing an early and unusual taste for, and skill in, humorous writing, he 
began in 1807 in connection with his brother William and James K. Paul- 
ding, the publication of a satirical magazine called Salmagundi. Only 
twenty numbers were issued ; but their rich and varied humor was much 
admired and this venture, though not pecuniarily successful, determined 
Irving's future career. He next wrote and published the famous Knicker- 
bocker History of New York, which was received with delight in this coun- 
try and attracted the favorable notice of Sir Walter Scott, who, in after years, 
on many occasions befriended and assisted Irving. Irving became a silent 
partner in a large commercial enterprise with his brothers in 1810. In 181 5 
he again sailed for Europe. In 18 17 business reverses reduced him to 
poverty, and he turned to his pen as a means of livelihood, and continued a 
constant and prolific writer to the clay of his death. His literary career 
was varied, but not interrupted, by two periods of service in the diplomatic 
ranks of his country; once for three years as Secretary of the Legation at 
London, and once as Minister to Spain for two years. He passed the latter 
part of his life at Sunnyside on the Hudson River, where he died Novem- 
ber 28, 1859. He never married. 

Irving's most important and popular works, in addition to those already 
mentioned are : The Sketch-Book, Bracebridge Hall, Tales of a Traveler, 
Columbus, the Alhambra, Goldsmith, Mahomet, Astoria, Tour of the 
Prairies, Captain Bonneville, and the Life of Washington. 

Irving has sometimes been called the Addison and, more often, the 
Goldsmith of America. He needs no such appellations. His style though 



3 1 8 NO TES ON THE TEXT. 

based on the best models of English writing, is distinctly his own, and the 
creator of Rip Van Winkle and the Legend of Sleepy Hollow holds his rank 
by his own unapproachable genial and lambent humor. 

The example of Irving given in this collection was selected on account of 
its intense local coloring, and exhibits in a marked degree his accurate 
acquaintance, with the traditions, manners and customs of New York 
under the Dutch, as well with the scenery and the varied natural features of 
the beautiful river he loved so well. 

NOTES. 

Part I. 

Title. Dolph Heyliger (dolf hi'-le-gur). 

Line 3. Lord Cornbury. The English governor of the province of 
New York from 1702 to 1708. 

Line 4. Dominie (dd'-mi-ne), from the Latin dominus, master, or lord, 
was a title given by the early Dutch settlers to the pastors of their churches, 
and is still used in the same way by their descendants in Albany and else- 
where. 

Line 6. Manhattoes. The island on which New York is situated was 
called Manhattan by the Indians. Irving humorously calls its inhabitants 
Manhattoes. 

Line 33. Arms a-Kimbo. Standing with the hands on the hips and the 
elbows turned outward. 

Line 50. Vanderspiegel (van'-der-spe-gl). 

Line 61. Lutheran. The Dutch settlers belonged to the branches of 
the Protestant church called the Reformed and the Lutheran. 

Line 72. Whipster. A little, nimble fellow. 

Line 95. Varlet. A servant or attendant on a knight; a later 
meaning gives the word a bad sense, as a scoundrel. As used here it 
means the same as the term scamp applied to a mischievous boy. 

Line 131. Cadaverous. Like a cadaver or corpse ; pale, death-like. 

Line 132. Rubicund. Ruddy, full of color. 

Line 140. Pestle (pes' 1). The stone implement with which materials 
are pulverized in a mortar, or hollow stone vessel. The mortar and pestle 
are the emblems of doctors and druggists the world over. 



NOTES ON THE TEXT. 319 

Line 152. Knipperhausen (nip'-per-how-sen). 

Line 165. Gallipots. Small, earthern, glazed pots used by apotheca- 
ries. 

Line 206. Palatinate (pal'-ah-tm-ate). A former division of Germany 
ruled by an officer called the Count Palatine. 

Line 211. Governor Hunter. Robert Hunter was the English gov- 
ernor of New York from 17 10 to 1728. 

Line 229. The Entire Burgh. The whole settlement. Burgh 
means a corporate town and is a common termination of names of places, 
as Edinburgh ; Petersburgh ; Pittsburgh, Lansingburgh. 

Line 244. Don Cossacks. Wild horsemen of Southern Russia. 

Line 277. Cronies. Intimate friends or associates. 

Line 313. Hydrophobia (hy-dro-fo'-be-ah). Literally, a dread or fear 
of water. The disease resulting from the bite of a mad dog. 

Line 318. Bowerie (bow'-er-e). The street in New York City called 
the Bowery took its name from the farms or boweries of the Dutch located 
thereabouts. 

Line 419. Fives. A game of ball. 

Line 461. Hartz Mountains. Mountains in North Germany associ- 
ated with a multitude of traditions and legends of a supernatural character. 

Line 473. Donner and Blitzen (don'-er and blitz'-en). Thunder 
and lightning. 

Line 505. Ich Kan Nicht, Mynheer (ek-kan-neecht, min'-hare), I can, 
not, sir. 

Line 521. Gibbet Island. See the story entitled Guests from Gib- 
bet Island, in Irving's Wolfert's Roost, for a full account of the tradition 
here alluded to. 

Line 523. Leisler (hV-ler). Jacob Leisler seized the reins of government 
in New York by force in 1689. He was arrested for treason and executed 
in 1 691. 

Line 541. Exorcised (ex'-or-sised). To exorcise was to drive away 
evil spirits by certain forms and ceremonies. 

Line 561. Conjuror (kon'-ju-ror). A magician. 



320 NOTES ON THE TEXT. 

Line 582. Harpsichord (harp'-se-cord). A keyed musical instrument 
closely resembling the piano. 

Line 697. Flemish. Relating to Flanders. 

Line 786. Heidelberg (hi'-del-berg) Catechism. A Catechism pub- 
lished at Heidelberg in Germany, the seat of a famous university. 

Line 888. Snicker-Snee. A Dutch sailor's knife. 

Line 927. Spiking-Devil. A corruption of Spuyten Duyvil, the name 
of a creek emptying into the Hudson just north of Manhattan Island. 

Line 928. Yonkers. A city on the Hudson River a few miles north of 
New York. 

Line 938. Tappaan Zee. An expansion of the Hudson River between 
Rockland County on the west, and Westchester County on the east. This 
zee, or sea, is twelve miles long and three and one half miles wide. 

Line 938. Highlands. A hilly region some sixteen miles wide and 
twenty miles long on both sides of the Hudson, embraced in the counties 
of Orange, Putnam and Dutchess. The highest summit is 1685 feet high 
and is called New Beacon. This summit was used during the Revolution- 
ary War to convey signals by means of beacon fires. 

Line 942. Low Dutch. The immigrants from Holland were called 
" Low" Dutch, those from Germany " High" Dutch. 



Part II. 

Line 12. Dunderberg. Thunder Mountain. Also called Donder- 
barrack, Thunder-chamber. A prominent hill in the Highlands. 

Line 14. Antony's Nose. A hill 1428 feet high, nearly opposite 
West Point. A certain jutting rock that resembled a nose, if the spectator 
was aided by a lively imagination, gave the title to this hill. 

Line 48. Bull Hill. A hill somewhat north of Antony's Nose. 

Line 103. Herculean (her-ku'-le-an). A word signifying extraor- 
dinary strength or power, derived from Hercules (her'-ku les), the name of a 
famous hero of Greek mythology. 

Line 205. Wampum-Belt. The North American Indians used shells or 
strings of shells as money. The strings of shells were often fastened to- 



MOTES ON THE TEXT. 32 1 

gether in a belt, which made a convenient means of carrying their peculiar 
currency. 

Line 225. Pinnace (pin'-nase). A small, light vessel, propelled by 
both oars and sails, rigged like a schooner, with two masts. 

Line 229. Quietus (kwi-e'-tus), A slang term for death. Currency 
has been given to the word by Shakespere. 

When he himself might his quietus make 
With a bare bodkin. 

Hamlet, Act III., Scene I. 
Line 290. Vander Heyden (van'-der-hi-den). 

Line 366. Hendrick Hudson. A celebrated English navigator, 
who, in 1609, discovered the noble river that bears his name. 

Line 442. Lord of the Dunderberg. A tradition of the Hudson 
says that the Dunderberg mountain is inhabited by a spirit, in whose honor 
passing vessels must lower their topsails, or meet his displeasure in the 
form of a thunder storm. See The Storm Ship in Bracebridge Hall. 

Line 460. Shawangunk (shawn'-gunk) Mountains. A part of the 
Appalachian system extending through Orange and Sullivan counties and 
into Ulster. 

Line 503* " Throw physic to the dogs." 

Shakespere. — Macbeth, Act V., Scene III. 

Line 524. Philosopher's Stone. A fabulous stone supposed to pos- 
sess the power of transmuting common metals into gold. It was the dream 
of the alchemists of the middle ages ; untold labor and thought were ex- 
pended in vain efforts to discover this stone. 

Line 531. Albany was in all its glory. This paragraph, and the 
domestic scenes depicted in those following, are worthy of careful study. 
For a fuller description of the local manners and customs of Albany in its 
early days, told with considerable exaggeration but with the most delicious 
humor, see the Knickerbocker History of New York. 

of Albany in its early days, told with considerable exaggeration but with 
the most delicious humor, see the Knickerbocker History of New York. 

Line 552. Lilliputian (lil-li-pu'-shan). Pertaining to Lilliput, an im- 
aginary island said to be inhabited by very diminutive people, hence the 
word means, very small. See Gulliver's Travels, by Jonathan Swift. 

Line 565. Large iron figures on the gables. Within the recollec- 
tion of the editor there were some twenty of these houses with gable ends 
21 



322 NOTES ON THE TEXT 

towards the street, each adorned with the date of erection in large iron 
figures. Now (1891) there is only one example left in Albany of Dutch 
architecture ; the low brick structure on the corner of North Pearl and 
Columbia Streets. This building bears in iron figures the date 1710 on 
its Columbia Street front. 

Line 618. Van Rensselaers, Gansevoorts and Rosebooms. Many 
representatives of these good old Dutch families still reside in Albany. 
The Van Rensselaers are the lineal descendants of the original Patroons, as 
they were called, who at one time owned most of the land on both sides of 
the Hudson River for several miles north and south of Albany. 

Line 621. Sinbad. Sinbad the Sailor, the hero of one of the famous 
Arabian Nights' Entertainments. 

Line 697. Peter Stuyvesant. The last Dutch governor of New Neth- 
erlands from 1647 to 1664. On the accession of the first English governor 
(Richard Nichols) the name of the colony was changed to New York. 

Line 776. Palisadoes. The famous Palisades are enormous cliffs, 
rising sheer from the Hudson River on its western bank and extending sev- 
eral miles north from Hoboken. 

Line 777. Hoboken. A city of New Jersey opposite the northern 
part of New York City. 

Line 981. Drawer of the Long Bow. A polite intimation that 
Dolph relied upon his imagination rather than his memory for his stories. 

The Crime of Old Blas, 

by 

catulle mendes. 

Translated by Chas. B. Cole, A. M., 1890. 

Author. Catulle Mendes (Ka-tuK mon'-da), a celebrated French poet 
and novelist, was born at Bordeaux in 1840. His poem, Le Roman d' une 
Nuit, caused his imprisonment by the Emperor Napoleon III. His best 
poem is the Hesperus. He has written several novels not very well- 
known out of France. His short stories, of which Old Bias is the most 
popular, are distinguished for local coloring and strength, and are held in 
very high esteem by his countrymen. No finer example of unselfish devo- 
tion to duty, in spite of all consequences, can be found than that of Old Bias 
in the story here given. The perfect likeness to truth of every incident 
from the start from the happy home, to the tragic but beautiful ending, gives 
to this tale a charm beyond description. 



NOTES ON THE TEXT 323 

NOTES. 

Part I. 

Line 7. Cadije (Ka-de'-zh). A woman's Christian name. 

Line 8. Basque (bask). The Basque Provinces are principally in the 
northeastern part of Spain, but a portion extends into French territory. 
The Basques, who are for the most part shepherds, have always been cele- 
brated for their bravery and vivacity. They speak a language which has no 
analogy with any other living tongue. 

Line 26. Pyrenees (pir'-a-neez). The great mountain chain that forms 
a natural barrier between France and the Iberian Peninsula. 

Line 31. Normandy (nor'-man-de). A fertile province of France bor- 
dering on the English Channel. 

Line 35. Blas (bias). A man's surname. 

Line 76. Anton in Perdigut (an'-to-neen per'-de-gu). 

Line 84. Badinage (bad-e-n'azh'). Ligh't or playful talk ; raillery. 

Part II. 
Line 30. Guignonet (gwee'-no-na). Little Luckless. 
Line 47. Sou. A French copper coin of about the value of a cent. 



From the Apennines to the Andes, 

BY 
EDMONDO DE AMICIS. 

Author. Edmondo de Amicis (a-mee'-chees) was born at Oneglia, Italy, 
Oct. 21, 1846. After a very creditable military service in the army of Ital- 
ian Independence, he began his literary career in 1868, and contributed many 
articles to papers and magazines. But it was after extensive travels through- 
out several of the states of Europe, and in Morocco, that he suddenly shone 
forth as one of the best of modern Italian writers. He issued in rapid suc- 
cession the brilliant books entitled Spain, London, Constantinople, 
Morocco, and Holland. These have been translated into English and 
other languages, and are held in high esteem. His characterizations of the 
different peoples he visited and his description of famous localities are won- 



324 NOTES ON THE TEXT. 

derfully vivid and graphic. No other contemporaneous Italian writer has 
so wide a circle of English and American readers and admirers. 

The story here given is taken by permission from the American transla- 
tion of Cuore, or An Italian Schoolboy's Journal, whose popularity 
is shown by the thirty-nine editions in Italian that had been printed when 
the translation was made in 1887. Though found in the midst of this book, 
the story is complete in itself, and therefore, has properly a place in this 
collection of entire productions. 

NOTES. 

Part I. 

Line 2. Genoa (jen'-o-ah'). A large and important seaport of Italy, of 
special interest to Americans as the birthplace of Columbus. 

Line 4. Buenos Ayres (bune-noz-i'rez). The capital and seaport of the 
Argentine Confederation in South America. The words are Spanish, and 
mean "good airs," referring to the healthful climate. 

Line 18. Genoese (jen'-o-ese). A native of Genoa. 

Line 27. Lire. An Italian silver coin worth about twenty cents. 

Line 45. Consulate. The official residence of the consul, or represen- 
tative of a foreign country. 

Line 91. Third-Class Passage. The passengers of a steamship are 
divided into three classes ; first cabin, second cabin, and third class or steer- 
age. The last are huddled together in the stern of the steamer. 

Line 132. Nocturnal Phosphorescences. The luminous appearance 
of the surface of the ocean at night caused by the presence of minute animals, 
which give forth a light like that made by a piece of phosphorus in the dark. 

Line 156. Lombard. A native of Lombardy in Italy. 

Line 158. Rosario (roz-a'-re-o). A city of the Argentine Confederation, 
one hundred and ninety-four miles N. W. of Buenos Ayres. 

Line 175. A Little Medal. Italian and other children of the same 
branch of the Christian Church, wear medals blessed by the priest or 
bishop. 

Line 179. The Rio de la Plata (re-o-da-lah-plah-tah). The great 
estuary formed by the junction of the Uruguay and Parana rivers. 

Line 199. Andrea Doria (an-dre'-a do'-re-ah), (1468-1560). A famous 



NOTES ON THE TEXT. 325 

Genoese naval commander and patriot, called by his fellow citizens the 
" Father of his Country." 

Line 205. Del los Artes, and below, line 43 Part II., Via del los 
Artes (loz-ar'-tes) (ve'-ah del loz ar'-tes). The street of the arts. 

Line 244. Haberdashers (hab'-er-dash-er). One who deals in small 
wares, such as pins, needles, thread, ribbons, tape, etc. 

Line 262. Signor (seen'-yor). The Italian equivalent for our " Mr." 

Line 262. Mequinez (ma-kee'-naz). 

Line 297. Cordova (kor-do'-vah). A city of the Argentine Confedera- 
tion, 387 miles north of Buenos Ayres. 

Line 343. Adtos (a-dee'-os). The farewell expression of the Italians 
corresponding to the French, " Adieu," and the English " Good-by." 

Line 366. Parana (pah-rah-nah / ). One of the great tributaries of the 
La Plata. 

Line 366. Po (po). The principal river of Italy. 

Line 371. Coppices (kop'-pises). A wood of small trees. 

Line 482. Soldo. An Italian coin, worth one cent. 

Line 533* Patriotta (pat-re-ot'ta). Used here in the sense of com- 
patriot. 

Part II. 

Line 82. Bizarre (bi-zaV). A French term meaning odd, fantastic. 

Line 100. Tucuman (too-koo-mahn'). A flourishing city of the Argen- 
tine Republic. 

Line 173. Peones (pe'-o-ne-z). South American laborers and bearers 
of burdens. 

Line 187. Facades (fa-sads). The face, front or any principal eleva- 
tion of a building. 

Line 261. Tier'ra del Fuego (te-ar'-rah-del-fwe'go) Spanish, " Land of 
Fire." A group of islands at the southern extremity of South America, 
separated from the main land by the Straits of Magellan. 

Line &$*. Titanic (tl-tan'-ic). The Titans of ancient mythology were 
a race of giants ; hence anything huge may be called Titanic. 

Line 548. Josefa (ho'-see-fa). A woman's name, 



326 NOTES ON THE TEXT. 



Alpine Climbing, 
by 

JOHN TYNDALL. • 

Author. John Tyndall, the distinguished physicist, who was born in 
Ireland in 1820, is still living. Perhaps no English scientific writer of this 
century has done as much as Tyndall to popularize great scientific truths. 
His most important work is entitled Heat Considered as a Mode of 
Motion. Hours of Exercise in the Alps, and Glaciers of the Alps, are 
delightful and popular works. Prof. Tyndall continues to contribute both 
popular and purely scientific papers to the leading periodicals. 

NOTES. 

For the pronunciation of, and other information concerning, the very 
large number of geographical and other proper names used in Alpine 
Climbing, teachers and pupils are referred to Lippincott's Gazetteer and 
other standard authorities ; the very large number of these words precludes 
their explanation in these notes. 

Part I. 

Line 43. Neve 7 (ne-va). The portion of a glacier that is above the limit 
of perpetual snow. 

Line 50. Col (kol). A short ridge connecting two higher elevations or 
mountains ; the pass over such a ridge. 

Line 55. Bersaglier (ber-sal'-ya). The name of a special body of light 
infantry in the Italian army. 

Line 58. Matterhorn. The German name for Mont Cervin located 
between Valais in Switzerland and the Val d'Aosta in Piedmont. This 
mountain has an elevation of 14,771 feet, and, on account of its rugged and 
sharp declivities, is extremely difficult of ascent. 

Line 134. Laodicean (la-o-di-see'-an). Like the Laodicean Christians 
who were said to be lukewarm, changeable and wavering ; " blowing, hot 
and cold : turning with every wind of doctrine." 

Line 160. Shingle. Round, water-worn pebbles, such as are common on 
the seashore. 

Line 165. Cachez-vous ? (kash-a-vu). Hide yourself ! equivalent to the 
English " Look out! " 



NOTES ON THE TEXT. 



327 



Line 169. Arete (ar-at/). The ridge of rock on the side of a moun- 
tain. 

Line 171. Couloir (koul'-war). The ditch or passage-way of a glacier. 

Line 350. Debris (da-bree'). Litter. 

Line 371. Etes-vous content d'essayer ? (Ate'-vii kon-tan des-say- 
ya). Are you ready to try it ? 

Line 372. Oui (00-e). Yes. 

Line 418. Es-tu bien place ? (Atu bee-ang pla-sa). Are you well- 
placed ? 

Line 428. Sang-froid (sang-frwoi). Coolness; intrepidity. 

Line 432. Ru-go'sity. A rough protruberance. 

Line 449. Glissade (glis-sad). A sliding down. 

Line 479. Thomson. Sir William Thomson, a celebrated British writer 
on scientific topics, especially physics. Born in 1828 at Belfast, and still 
living. 

Line 485. Integration. This seemingly difficult passage becomes 
clear when we reflect that integration, as used here, means the " making up," 
or formation, of forces. The integration, or making up, of the forces engen- 
dered in the sun and other sources of heat, disintegrates, or tears to pieces, 
even the mighty Matterhorn. 

Part II. 

Line 8. The Pleiades (ple'-ya-dez). In mythology, the seven daugh- 
ters of Atlas and nymph Pleione, fabled to have been made a constella- 
tion in the sky by Jupiter. In astronomy, a group of small stars in the 
neck of the constellation Taurus. 

Line 9. Orion (o-rl'-on). In mythology, a celebrated hunter. In 
astronomy, a large and bright constellation on the equator, between the 
stars Aldebaran and Sirius. 

Line 11. Moraine (mo-ran'). An accumulation of earth and stones 
carried forward and deposited by a glacier. 

Line 26. Daffodil Sky. A sky with a yellowish tinge. 

Line 31. Dented. Toothed. 



328 NOTES ON THE TEXT. 

Line 47. Selective Winnowing. The teacher should explain the 
theory of color which assigns to different objects the power of arresting 
and reflecting its own color from the spectrum, and permitting all the other 
colors to pass through. 

Line 66. Dove (do-va'). Heinrich Wilhelm Dove (1803-1879), a cele- 
brated German meteorologist. 

Line 80. Nicol's Prism. William Nicol (1768-1851 ). He in- 
vented the polarizing prism. 

Line 101. Aletschhokn. With the exception of the Finsteraarhorn, 
the highest peak of the Bernese Alps; it has an elevation of 13,803 
feet. 

Line 146. Athena (a-the'-na). The Grecian goddess of wisdom, cor- 
responding to the Roman Minerva. 

Line 165. Sie mussen sich zwingen (se-messen-seek zwing-en). You 
must compel yourself. 

Line 181. Auberge (o'-barzh). An inn. 

Line 184. Le mal des montagnes (le-mal-deh-mon-tan). Mountain 
sickness. 

Line 188. Crevasses (cre-vas'-sez). Fissures by which the mass of a 
glacier is divided. 

# Line 322. Like a mountain Saul. The allusion is to Saul, King of 
Israel, who stood head and shoulders above his compeers. 

Line 328. Schistose gneiss (srnY-tose nice). Gneiss rock that is 
easily divided into slabs. 

Line 363. Sirocco (sir-ok'-ko). A hot wind arising in the Desert of 
Sahara, chiefly prevalent in Italy. 

Part III. 

Line 33. Shot Rubbish The fragments of rock projected from the 
mountain heights by the action of the heat from the sun. See description 
on pages 156 and 157, 

Line 43. Bergschrund. See description lines 99-102, page 174. 

Line 43. Snow-basses. Snow ridges. 



NOTES ON THE TEXT. 329 

Line 196. Bennen. A celebrated Alpine guide who lost his life in a 
similar accident. 

Line 199. Vis viva (vis ve'-vah). Living force — the energy of a mov- 
ing body. 



A Christmas Carol, 

BY 
CHARLES DICKENS. 

Author* Charles Dickens, the most popular English novelist, since 
Sir Walter Scott, was born at Portsmouth, England, in 18 12. His father 
designed him for the legal profession, but this calling was not pleasing to 
Dickens, who prepared himself to become a parliamentary reporter. His 
first contribution to literature was the Sketches of Life and Character, 
contributed to the Morning Chronicle and afterwards published in book- 
form under the title, Sketches by Boz. His reputation was established 
by the Pickwick Papers, which obtained an enormous circulation, and 
which are unsurpassed in modern English literature for humor and sharp 
characterization. His first novel was Oliver Twist, published in 1838* 
This was followed in rapid succession by that long list of novels and tales 
that have been for the last fifty years the delight of millions of readers. 
Mr. Dickens visited the United States in 1841 and in 1868, and on 
both occasions was received with universal enthusiasm and high apprecia- 
tion. During his last tour of this country, he gave many public readings 
from his works. The most delightful of these was the Christmas Carol, 
which is given in this book in the abridged form prepared by himself for 
public reading. Mr. Dickens died suddenly in 1870 and was buried in the 
"Poet's Corner" of Westminster Abbey; a distinction worthily won. 
Although much criticised, just now, for exaggeration, and affectation of 
sentiment, there is little doubt of his novels holding permanently the very 
highest rank in fictitious literature, by the side of those of Scott, Hugo, 
Cervantes, Manzoni and Le Sage. 



Stave I. 

Line 7. Dead as a door-nail. The door-nail is the plate, or knob, 
on which the knocker or hammer strikes. As this nail is knocked on the 
head several times a day, it cannot be supposed to have much life left in it, 



330 NOTES ON THE TEXT. 

Falstaff.—\<!\\2ii\ is the old King dead ? 
Pistol. — As nail in door. 

Shakespere. — 2 He7iry IV., Act V., Scene III. 

Line n. Residuary legatee. One who receives all that remains of 
an estate after all claims and bequests are paid. 

Line 28. " Came Down." Slang for paying, or giving, money. 

Line 43. " Nuts." Slang for enjoyment. 

Stave II. 
Line 126. "Cut." Cut "a pigeon-wing;" a difficult feat in dancing. 

Stave III. 

Line 18. Plenty's horn. The cornucopia j familiar as the repository 
of Christmas candies. 

Line 44. " Bob." Slang for a shilling. 

Line 165. Half of half a quartern. Half of half a gill. 

Stave IV. 

Line 64. Charwoman. A woman who cleans offices and lodgings. 

Line 232. " Walk-er." A slang term, indicating the boy was not to 
be cheated into going on a " goose-chase." 

Line 240. Joe Miller. Referring to a famous book of anecdotes 
entitled " Joe Miller's Jest Book." 



Aslauga's Knight, 
by 

DE LA MOTTE FOUQUE\ 

Author. Freiderich Heinrich Karl, Baron de la Motte Fouque, 
was born at Brandenburg, Prussia, February 12, 1777. He wasagodson and 
namesake of Frederick the Great. Educated at home by private tutors, 
his early promise of literary ability was especially fostered by one of them, 
August Hiilse, a man of decided ability. Like most German noblemen 
Fouque served in the army with credit, but he devoted the most of his life to 
literature. He belonged to the romantic school of writers so numerous in 



NOTES ON THE TEXT. 33 I 

Germany in his times. He put forth very many books ; but his fame rests 
now entirely on a romantic novel entitled the Magic Ring and the four 
chivalric tales, Undine, Sintram and his Companions, The Two Captains, 
and Aslauga's Knight. These tales have been translated into many lan- 
guages and are still read with delight the world over. He died at Berlin, 
January 23, 1843. 

Origin. The story of Aslauga's Knight was inspired by the Scandina- 
vian sagas, or poems, which were exceedingly popular in Fouque's time and 
which, together with the great German ballads treating the same themes 
grouped under the title Niblungen Lied, Lay of the Nibel-ungers, since made 
world-famous by being wedded to lofty music in the operas of Richard 
Wagner, have much influenced all modern German literature and have 
enriched English poetry and prose with countless allusions and themes. 

Purpose. Steadfast devotion to a lofty ideal, finally rewarded, is the 
obvious motive of this story. 

" The love of Aslauga's Knight for the old Scandinavian legends has 
shaped for him an ideal for which he lives. Aslauga represents the highest 
beauty that his mind could draw from the books he studied ; and the pure 
devotion to it, mirrors, in a romance, the devotion drawn, may we not say, 
from the old books of the Bible, to a spiritual life." „ 

Prof. Henry Morley. 

NOTES. 

Chapter I. 

Line I. Fuhnen (fee'-nen). One of the largest of the Danish Islands. 

Line 2. Skalds. Written also scalds and skjalds. A skald was an 
ancient Scandinavian poet, one whose duty was to compose poems in 
honor of Norse chieftains and their achievements and to recite and sing 
them on public occasions. The skalds of the Norsemen correspond to the 
bards of the Britons, or Celts. 

" And there in many a stormy vale, 
The ska/dhzs told his wondrous tale." 

Sir Walter Scott. 

Line 6. Runic Writings. The word rune means mystery. The 
Runic writings were in a mysterious character kept secret as far as possible 
by the Norse priests. The priests cut these characters in smoothed wood 
generally willow, called rune stafas, which were used by them for the pur- 
poses of incantation and sorcery. The runes have been found inscribed on 
monuments, rocks, medals, rings and the hilts and blades of swords. The 



332 Motes oJv the text. 

Runic writings occur in Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Germany, Britain and 
more rarely in France and Spain. These runes have been deciphered and 
are often in rhyme. 

Line 25. Aslauga, the fair daughter of Sigurd .... won the love of 
King Ragner Lodbrog. 

Sigurd was the most illustrious of the many heroes whose wonderful 
exploits are recounted in the Volsungasaga, the great Icelandic saga, or 
poem, written probably at the close of the thirteenth century. 

Aslauga, the last surviving child of Sigurd was preserved in a miracu- 
lous manner as related in the saga. She is represented as remarkable for 
personal beauty and as a superior woman in mind and character. She 
married King Ragner Lodbrog, another famous hero of the Volsungasaga. 
For a full account of this famous saga, see " Saga Time," by J. Fulford 
Vicary, published in London,. 1889, Keegan Paul, Trench & Co. 

Line 133. Tournament. A military sport or exercise, common in the 
middle ages, (from the fifth to the fifteenth centuries inclusive), in which 
a number of combatants, or knights on horseback, engaged for the purpose 
of exercising and exhibiting their courage, prowess and skill in arms. 

Chapter II. 

Line 29. Hostlery. An inn, a lodging house. Written also hostel. 

Line 70. Edchen (ed'-ken). The German diminutive of Edwald ; 
equivalent to our Eddie, a shortened form of Edward. 

Line 103. Valkyrien (Val-kee-ree'-en). Messengers of fate sent to 
foretell the destinies of men. 

Chapter IV. 

Line 10. Lists. The boundaries of the enclosure in which a tourna- 
ment was held, or the enclosure itself. 

Line 57. A Masquing Device. A device pertaining to entertainments 
where all the participants are disguised by means of masks. Such parties 
are called masquerades. 

Line 61. Kettle-Drums. Instruments of martial music, being kettles, 
or basins, of brass, rounded at the bottom, and covered at the top with 
parchment or goatskin. 

The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out 
The triumph of his pledge. 

Shakespere. 



NOTES OAT THE TEXT. 333 

Line 84. Keep You Your Guiding Star. . . . That is, " Keep the 
image of your beloved Hildegardis before you as I shall that of Aslauga." 

Line 144. Vi-zor. Written usually visor. From the latin video, visus, 
to see. A movable perforated part of the helmet, or metal covering, worn 
by soldiers to protect the head from the blows of their enemies' weapons 
above the beaver or face guard ; so called because it gives the wearer an 
opportunity for seeing. 

Line 177. Omen. A casual event or occurrence thought to portend good 
or evil ; a sign of a future event. Omens have always been regarded as of 
great importance among all nations in their primitive stages of development 
even when they had reached a high state of civilization; the ancient Romans 
placed great reliance upon omens ; a peculiar flight of birds, the appearance 
of the entrails of animals killed as sacrifices, and many other accidental 
occurrences often determined the undertaking or abandonment of great 
enterprises. Christianity has removed much of this form of superstition, 
though it still survives in a certain degree. We all know persons who will 
not sit down as the thirteenth person at a table, regarding such an event as 
omen of death. 

Chapter V. 

Line 20. Presage. To foretell, to prophesy. 

My' dreams presage some joyful news at hand. 

Shakespere. 

Line 104. Herald. An officer in the middle ages whose duty it was to 
carry messages between princes, and to proclaim war and peace, and whose 
person was held sacred while performing these duties. 

Chapter VI. 

Line 113. Heathen Land of Prussia. In the days of Froda, prob- 
ably the eleventh century, Prussia was a small province of Germany, and 
in remote localities still heathen in religion. 

Line 180. Duke. From the Latin dux, a leader. A high title of nobil- 
ity throughout Europe. 

Line 218. Gauntlet (gant/-let). An iron glove worn by armored 
knights, which was thrown down in token of a challenge to combat. To 
throw down the gauntlet is to challenge to take up the gauntlet is to 
accept a challenge. 



334 NOTES ON THE TEXT. 



Chapter VIII. 



Line 64. Hautboys (ho-boys). Musical instruments like the clarinet, 
but more slender and more thin in tone. 



The Story Without an End, 
by 

FREDERICK WILHELM CAROVE. 

Author. Frederick Wilhelm Carove, the author of the story, was 
born at Coblentz in 1789, and died in 1852. He had considerable ability as 
a critic and a philosophical writer. 

Translator. Mrs. Sarah Austin (1793-1867) was a distinguished Eng- 
lish writer, who gained a high reputation as a translator from the German. 
Her excellent work drew forth high words of praise from Macauley. The 
Story Without an End, which she turned into English for the pleasure 
of her own daughter has been justly a great favorite in England for many 
years. It seems that when she translated " The Story Without an End," 
its authorship was unknown, although it had then attained great pop- 
ularity. 

NOTES. 

Part II. 
Line 40. " pride goeth before a fall." An incorrect version of 
" Pride goeth before destruction and an haughty spirit before a fall." 

Proverbs xvi. 18. 
Part III. 

Line 11. Dark Mirror. What is meant by this? What figure of 
speech ? 

Line 27. Morning Opened Her Clear Eye. Express this idea in 
simple language. W T hat figure of speech ? 

Part IV. 

Line 5. Ranun'culus (ran-un'-ku-lus). The butter-cup. The title 
means " little frog," and was given to flowers of the same family that grow 
in water where frogs abound. 

Line 34. The Tulips were her countrymen. Both the hyacinth 
and the tulip were introduced into Europe from Persia. 

Line 42. Auricula (aw-rik-u-lah). A species of primrose. The title 
means " little ear." 



NOTES ON THE TEXT. 335 

Part VIII. . 

Line 11. Aglaia (ag-la'-yah). The personification of grace and beauty; 
the hare-bell ; the blue-bell of Scotland. 

Part XL 

Line 5. Will o' the Wisp. Written also " Will-with-a-wisp," and 
called also Jack-with-a-lantern or Jack-a-lantern. This is the ignis fatuus, 
foolish fire, which sometimes leads travelers astray. It is a luminous 
meteor, which hovers a few feet from the ground over spots where there is 
much decayed animal or vegetable matter. - 

Line 54. A Little Smiling Child. Who is alluded to here ? 

Part XIII. 

Line 58. Cyane (cy'-an-e). The blue corn-flower. 

Line 71. Prater (pra'-ter). One who prates or talks much, or fool- 
ishly. 

Part XIV. 

Line 20. Chrysalids (chris'-a-lids). Properly chrysalides, (cri-sal'-i-des), 
the pupa of an insect, or the last apparent change of the larva, before its 
appearance as a perfect insect. 



The Uses of Astronomy, 
by 

EDWARD EVERETT. 

Author. Edward Everett, the distinguished American orator* and 
statesman was born in Dorchester, Mass., April 11, 1794 and died Jan. 15, 
1865. He graduated at Harvard University with the highest honors in 
181 1, studied theology and was ordained minister in 1814. He was subse- 
quently Professor of Greek and President of Harvard. His public career 
was long and brilliant. He was elected Member of Congress and Gov- 
ernor of Massachusetts. President Harrison appointed him Minister to 
England. Under President Fillmore, he was for a short time Secretary of 
State, and, soon afterwards, was elected United States Senator from his 
native state. He was a candidate for the vice-presidency in i860, but was 
defeated. 



33^ NOTES ON THE TEXT. 

Mr. Everett was undoubtedly the most highly cultured American of his 
time. His attainments were wide and varied and his scholarship was rich 
and accurate. His literary reputation rests upon his orations and addresses 
and contributions to the North American Review. Pre-eminent among 
his orations stand the oration on Washington, delivered nearly one hundred 
times, and by means of which nearly one hundred thousand dollars were 
raised for the purchase of Mount Vernon, the home and burial place of the 
immortal subject of the oration, and the oration on the Uses of Astronomy 
delivered at Albany on the occasion of the dedication of the famous Dudley 
Observatory, Aug. 26, 1856. The whole of the latter is given in this book, 
except the introductory passages, which are chiefly of local interest and have 
little connection with the theme. Those who had the rare privilege of listen- 
ing to these two masterpieces of eloquence and rhetoric can never forget the 
grace of manner, and the inexpressible charm of the orator's delivery. To 
the editor of this book who was so fortunate as to hear both, the memory 
of the delight and wonder with which he listened to the silver-tongued elo- 
quence of the prince of American orators is indeed precious. 

Mr. Everett's orations, addresses and political papers have been collected 
and published in four large volumes. Their perusal will well repay the stu- 
dent, by their accurate information and perfect oratorical style. 

NOTES. 

The technical and scientific terms used in this oration are so numerous, 
that an effort to explain them would extend these notes beyond their proper 
limits. Teachers and pupils will find all such terms in any modern diction- 
ary. The International and the Century dictionaries are the best books 
of reference for the purpose. 

Part I. 

Line 52. Reducing observations. Expressing the laws governing 
heavenly bodies ascertained from a study of facts observed. 

Line 82. Cyclopean (si-klo-pe'-an). Huge, gigantic* Cyclops, a fab- 
ulous giant, was said to have one monstrous eye placed in the middle of his 
forehead. 

Line 157* The original reads : 

'Tis with our judgments as our watches ; none 
Go just alike, but each believes his own. 

Pope's Essay on Criticism. 

Line 164. Orion (o-n'-on). See note on page 327. 



NOTES ON THE TEXT 337 

Line 167. Empyrean (Em-pi-re'-an). The highest heavens. 

Line 186. Nychthemerum (nik-the'-me-riim). The natural day and 
night, a period of twenty-four hours. 

Line 219. Error of the Julian Period. See International or 
Century Dictionary. 

Line 224. Roman Pontiff. The Pope, the head of the Roman Cath- 
olic Church. 

Line 228. Struves (struves). Frederick (b. 1793 — d. l ^4) and Otto 
(b. 18 19) Struve, father and son, were famous German astronomers, attached 
for many years to the great Russian observatory at Puikova, near St. 
Petersburg. 

Line 242. Copernicus (ko-per'-ni-kus). An illustrious astronomer, 
(b. 1473 — d. 1543), who was the first of modern astronomers to present the 
theory that the earth and the other planets revolved around the sun as a 
center. 

Line 290. Pickering (pik'-er-ing). (b. 1745 — d. 1829). A prominent 
American statesman of the Revolutionary period. 

Line 319. St. Croix (Saint Croi). A river forming the boundary 
between New Brunswick and Maine. 

Line 347. Daniel Webster, Secretary of State under President 
Fillmore, and Lord Ashburton, British Minister, negotiated this treaty. 

Line 350. Guadalupe Hidalgo (gwa'-da-loop he-daT-go). A town 
of Mexico, where the tre'aty of 1848, ceding California and New Mexico to 
the United States, was negotiated. 

Line 361. Mesilla Valley. A small valley in New Mexico. 

Line 414. Pharos. A lighthouse on the small island of the same 
name near Alexandria, Egypt. It was five hundred feet high, its light 
could be seen forty-two miles at sea, and it was considered one of the won- 
ders of the ancient world. It was built by Ptolemy Soter (323-285 B. a). 
The Pharos is often used as a synonym for lighthouse. 

Line 487. Charles Babbage (b. 1790 — d. 187 1). The inventor of 
the astronomical calculating machine. 

Line 495. Nautical Almanac. A government publication furnished 
for the guidance of navigators. 



33 8 NOTES ON THE TEXT. 

Line 496. Errata (er-ra'-tah). Errors; singular, erratum; see line 

505- 

Line 519. Savant (sav'-ong). A learned man. 

Line 523. Swanpan. The Chinese abacus, a frame of wires on which 
wooden balls are strung, which the Chinese use for computations of all 
kinds. The ordinary numeration frame used in primary schools is a kind 
of abacus. 



Part II. 

Line 5« Data (da'-tah). Facts; singular, datum. 

Line 17. Pythagoras (py-thag'-o-ras). A celebrated Greek philoso- 
pher who flourished about 600 B. c. 

Line 24. Aristotle (ar'-is-totl). The most eminent of Greek philoso- 
phers; (b. 384 — d. 322 B.C.) 

Line 24. Archimedes (ark-i-me'-dez). A noted mathematician and 
mechanical engineer and inventor ; born at Syracuse, Sicily, 287 B. c, died 
212 B. c. 

Line 25. Hipparchus (hip-par'-chus). The greatest astronomer of 
antiquity. Flourished about 150 B.C. 

Line 25. Ptolemy (tor-me). A celebrated astronomer of Alexandria, 
Egypt, of the second century of the Christian era. 

Line 39. Tycho de Brahe (ty-ko-de-bra-he). An eminent Danish 
astronomer; b. 1545 — d. ■ 1601. 

Line 45. Uranienburg (ura'-ne-en-berg). The name given to Brahe's 
Observatory on an island belonging to .Denmark. The name means the 
" city of the heavens." 

Line 46. Keppler (spelled also Kepler) (kep'-pler). A celebrated 
German astronomer, born 1571, died 1630. He was the discoverer of the 
laws governing planetary bodies, known as Keppler's laws. 

Line 49. Galileo (gal-le-la'-S). The famous Italian astronomer, born 
at Pisa, in 1564, and died in 1642. He was the inventor of the telescope, the 
pendulum and the thermometer. See full account of his remarkable career 
in any standard encyclopedia. 

Line 58. Fiesole (fee-a'-so-le). A town of Italy, near Florence. 



NOTES ON THE TEXT. l 339 

Line 59. Etruscan (e-truY-kan). The title of the nation which flour- 
ished in Etruria, Italy, before the Roman period. 

Line 60. Fiorenza (fe-o-ren'-za). 

Line 62. St. Peter's. The largest cathedral in the world. (Rome, 
Italy). 

Line 64. Dante (dan'-te), Born 1265 — died 1321. The greatest of 
Italy's poets. His Divine Comedy is regarded as one of the three or four 
greatest epic poems the world has produced. 

Line 65. Michael Angelo (mi'-kel an'-je 15). One of the greatest 
painters and sculptors the world has known. He was born in 1474, and 
died in 1563. He was one of the architects of St. Peter's at Rome. 

Line 73. Raphael (raf-a-el). The most eminent of modern painters. 
Born 1483, died 1520. 

Line 73. Titian (tish'-e-an). An eminent Italian painter, born in 
1477, died in 1576. 

Line 74. Cyrus the Younger (si-rus). A Persian monarch who 
flourished about 400 B. c. 

Line 75. Pharaoh (fa/ra-o). A general title given to ancient Egyp- 
tian kings. 

Line 76. Joseph. The great Biblical patriarch. See Book of Genesis. 

Line 76. Lucumons. A title given to Etruscan rulers. 

Line 85. Santa Croce (san'-tah cro'-che). A church in Florence. 

Line 88. Inquisition. A court for the trial of offenders against the 
laws and doctrines of the state church. 

Line 93. Milton. John Milton, the greatest of English epic poets, 
born 1608, died 1674. His greatest work is the Paradise Lost. 

Line 97. Dominican and Franciscan. Monastic orders that were 
all-powerful in the Roman Church in the seventeenth century. 

Line 109. Venus, Jupiter and Saturn (ve'nus, ju'-pi-tur, sa'-turn). 

Planets of the Solar System. The order, names and distance from the Sun 
of all the large planets, should be given to the class. 

Line 120. Printers of Mentz and Strasburg. John Gutenberg 



340 « NOTES ON THE TEXT. 

(goot/-en-berg) and John Faust (fowst), the inventors of the art of print- 
ing. 

Line 126. Newton. Sir Isaac Newton, the greatest English mathema- 
tician and philosopher, the discoverer of the law of gravitation; born in 
1642, died in 1727. 

Line 126. Franklin. Benjamin Franklin, the celebrated American 
inventor, statesman and philosopher, born in 1706, died in 1790. He Was 
the inventor of the lightning-rod. 

Line 128. Leverrier (leh-va'-re-a). An eminent French astronomer, 
born in 1816, died in 1877. He was tne discoverer of the planet Neptune. 

Line 144. Herschel (her'-shel). Sir William Herschel, a noted 
English astronomer, born 1738, died 1822. 

Line 144. Rosse. William Parsons, Earl of Rosse (1800-1867) the 
builder of the largest reflecting telescope ever erected. 

Line 172. Bradley. James Bradley, an eminent English astronomer, 
born 1693, died 1762. 

Line 187. La Place (lah-plas'). The greatest of the French astrono- 
mers and mathematicians, born in 1749, died in 1827. 

Line 195. Ultima Thule (uT-te-mah thu'-le). The fabled end of the 
earth, of the Romans. 

Line 210. Andromeda (an-drom'-e-dah).. One of the constellations. 

Line 232. Plato (pla-to). The most illustrious philosopher of all 
times. He was born at Athens, in 429 B. c, and died 347 B. c. 

Line 233. Cicero (sis'-e-ro). Marcus Tullius Cicero, the greatest of 
Roman orators ; born 106 B. c, and died 43 B. c. 

Line 251. Galvani (gal-vah'-ne). Discoverer of the form of electricity 
known as galvanism. Born in 1737, died in 1798. 

Line 254. Davy. Sir Humphrey Davy. An eminent English chemist, 
born in 1778, died in 1829. He invented the miner's safety lamp. 

Line 271. Henry. Joseph Henry. An American natural philosopher, 
born at Albany, N. Y., in 1797, died in 1878. He was the first to apply 
magnetism to the movement of machinery. His experiments undoubtedly 
led to the invention of the telegraph. 



NOTES ON THE TEXT. 34 1 

Line 271. Morse. Samuel F. B. Morse, the inventor of the magnetic 
telegraph, was born in 1791 and died in 1872. 

Line 271. Walker, Mitchel, Lock and Bond. American astrono- 
mers of high repute. 

Line 293. Bachelor of Arts. (A. B.) The degree given on gradua- 
tion from a college. 

Line 297. Master's Degree. A. M. A degree given to graduates, 
three years after that of A. B. 

Line 343. Pleiades. (See note on p. 327.) 

Line 344. Lyra (H'-ra), One of the constellations. 

Line 381. Huyghens (hi'-gens). A Dutch astronomer, b. 1629, d. 1695. 

Line 420. Sir John Herschel. An eminent English astronomer, son 
of the great Sir William; born in 1792, died in 1871. 

Line 471. Aldebaran (al-deb'-a-ran). A fixed star in the constella- 
tion Taurus, popularly called the Bull's Eye. 

Line 472. Sirius (sir'-e-us). A fixed star in the constellation Canis 
Major. It is the brightest star in the heavens and is called the Dog-star. 



The Second Inaugural and Gettysburg Address. 

BY 
ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 

Author. Abraham Lincoln (link-un), the sixteenth and, next to Wash- 
ington, the most illustrious president of the United States, was born, Feb. 12, 
1S09, in Hardin County, Ky. His parents were poor, and his childhood 
was passed in hardship and toil. In the face of great obstacles, be studied 
the profession of law and was admitted to the bar in 1836 at Springfield, 111., 
which became his residence thereafter. He served several terms in the 
legislature of Illinois with considerable distinction. He was elected mem- 
ber of Congress in 1846 and served one term. From that time until i860 he 
pursued his professional career with marked success. In 1854, he conducted 
a famous campaign for the office of United States Senator ; his opponent 
being the most popular orator of that day, Stephen A. Douglas. Though 
Lincoln was not successful, he made so high a reputation for oratory and 
skill in debate, that when his party nominated its candidate for the presi- 
dency in 1S60, he was named as its choice. He was elected and was inaugu- 



342 NOTES ON THE TEXT. 

rated March 4, 1861. The next four years were the most trying period in 
our nation's history. The terrible civil conflict brought forward many noble 
men, whose services can never be forgotten, but amid them all, the figure 
of Lincoln stands, and will ever stand, pre-eminent. He was re-elected pres- 
ident in 1864 and entered upon his second term, March 4, 1865. While the 
country was rejoicing at the downfall of the rebellion, it was plunged into 
the deepest grief by the assassination of its beloved president. This most 
atrocious crime was committed April 14, 1865; although the unconscious 
victim breathed for several hours, dying the next day. His career during 
the stormy scenes of the civil war is thus summed up by Emerson : " In four 
years — four years of battle-days, his endurance, his fertility of resources, his 
magnanimity, were sorely tried and never found wanting. There, by his cour- 
age, his justice, his even temper, his fertile counsel, his humanity, he stood 
a heroic figure in the center of a heroic epoch. He is the true history of 
the American people in his time — the true representative of this continent 
— father of his country, the pulse of twenty millions throbbing in his heart, 
the thought of their minds articulated by his tongue." 

Lincoln's writings are few in number, but as choice as few. The chief 
are his state papers, the two inaugural addresses, the Emancipation 
Proclamation, and the Gettysburg address. The Bible and Pilgrim's Prog- 
ress were said to be Lincoln's constant studies in his youth. Their influence 
may be seen in the purity, simplicity and vigor of his style. 

The battle of Gettysburg, fought on the first three days of July 1863, is 
now ranked as one of the decisive battles of the world's history. It was 
certainly the turning point of the civil war. The forces of Gen. Lee had 
invaded Pennsylvania and the whole North was filled with apprehension ; 
but, after one of the most sanguinary battles on record, the Union forces 
under Gen. Meade drove the invaders back. In commemoration of this 
event, the state of Pennsylvania purchased a portion of the battle ground and 
gave it to the nation as a cemetery. This cemetery was dedicated Nov. 19, 
1863 with impressive ceremonies. Edward Everett delivered the formal 
oration and President Lincoln gave utterance to the immortal address here 
given. These few lines are of such noble simplicity that, happily, they need 
no annotation. Every pupil should commit them to memory. 

The following paragraph taken from a newspaper of recent date, affords 
valuable evidence of the opinions of Europeans concerning the "Address." 
It is a matter of regret that the writer did not give the name of the 
" scholarly Oxford man." 

" A discussion about Abraham Lincoln took place one evening at chambers 
in the Temple, to which place several lawyers and others had been invited to 
meet American visitors. The discussion started on Lincoln early in the 
evening's proceedings and never wandered away from that subject until we 



NOTES ON THE TEXT. 



343 



separated in the small hours of the following morning. I remember 
being struck by what a very scholarly Oxford man said about Lincoln's ora- 
tion at Gettysburg. He said that at the time it had been delivered, Oxford 
men thought it must have been based upon, or at least suggested by, some 
one of the ancient Greek orations delivered upon a similar occasion. 
Accordingly the young men went to their books, and of course, turned. up 
the famous speech, quoted by Socrates for Menexenus, that Aspasia com- 
posed and Pericles delivered after a great battle. But Lincoln had evidently 
not found his inspiration there. Some great funeral orations of antiquity 
and the Middle Ages were ransacked, but with the same result. ' President 
Lincoln's few words,' said the scholar, * formed a nobler utterance than all 
the recorded funeral orations delivered through the ages.' " 

The Second Inaugural Address is almost equal to the Gettysburg Address 
as an example of lofty and noble eloquence. Its concluding sentence is as 
familiar in the mouths of the American people as household words. Deliv- 
ered March 4, 1865, at a time when the mighty anaconda of Union troops 
was slowly but surely crushing out the dwindling army of the Confederates; 
when the day of final victory was evidently close at hand, there is no note of 
exultant triumph in its lines ; but throughout is expressed that profound 
pity for a proud people about to be humiliated to the dust, that in such 
supreme moments can be felt only by great souls like Lincoln's. This 
address made a deep and lasting impression on the whole nation, and opened 
the way to reconciliation and peace. Its simple and direct utterances need 
no explanations ; but each pupil should read with close attention the history 
of the events that immediately preceded and followed its delivery, in order 
to get a full understanding of this famous address. 



LIST OF WORKS OF WRITERS REPRE- 
SENTED IN THIS BOOK. 



THE DATE OF THE FIRST EDITION IS GIVEN, AS FAR AS PRACTICABLE. 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 



Fanshawe, . 
Twice-Told Tales, 
Twice-Told Tales (enlarged), 
Mosses from an Old Manse, . 
The Scarlet Letter, 
The House of the Seven Gables, 
The Wonder Book, 
Blithedale Romance, . 
Life of Franklin Pierce, 
Tanglewood Tales, 
The Marble Faun, 
Our Old Home, 



Posthumous Publications. 

The Dolliver Romance, 

American Note Books, 

English Note Books, 

French and Italian Note Books, 

Septimius Felton, .... 

Dr. Grimshawe's Secret, 

WASHINGTON IRVING. 

Salmagundi, . 

Knickerbocker's History of New York, 
The Sketch Book, . • 
Bracebridge Hall, . 



1826 
1S37 
1845 
1846 
1850 
1851 
1851 
1852 
1852 

1853 
i860 

1863 



1864 
1868 
1870 
1872 
1872 
1882 



1806 
1809 
1820 
1822 



LIST OF WORKS. 



345 



Tales of a Traveler, 


. 


. 1824 


Columbus, 


• 


1828 


Conquest of Granada, 


. 


. 1829 


The Alhambra, 


, 


1832 


The Tour on the Prairies, 


■ 1835 


Crayon Miscellany, 


. 


1835 


Astoria, 


. 


. 1836 


Captain Bonneville, 


. 


1837 


Life of Mahomet, . 


. 


. 1849 


Life of Goldsmith, 


. 


1849 


Wolfert's Roost, . 


. 


- 1854 


Life of Washington (5 


vols.), . 


1855-1859 



Posthumous Publications. 
The Spanish Papers, Companions of Columbus, etc., 

CATULLE MENDES. 



1866 



Le Roman d'une Nuit (poem), . . . i860 

Hesperus, " .... 1869 

Le Soleil de Minuit, " . . . . 1870 

The Crime of Old Bias and other short stories are of 
recent publication ; Old Bias has been honored by issue 
in an edition de luxe, Paris, . . . i£ 

EDMONDO DE AMICIS. 

La Vita Militare, .... 

Novelle, ..... 

Ritratti letterari, . . . 

Studies of Paris, 

Spain (Travels), 

Holland, " 

Constantinople, . . . 1880 j New York City. 

Cruore, Diary of an Italian School-Boy, . . .1 

Translated into English ; published by T. Y. Crowell 
& Co., New York. 



. 1872 

1881 

. 1879] Translated into En- 

1881 I glish ; published by 

. 1882 \ G. P, Putnam's Sons, 



346 LIST OF WORKS. 




JOHN TYNDALL. 




Peaks, Passes and Glaciers, 




. i860 


Heat Considered as a Mode of Motion, 


1862 


Lectures on Sound, 


• 


. 1867 


Notes on Electricity, . 


. 


1870 


Faraday as a Discoverer, . 


. 


. 1870 


Fragments of Science, 


. 


1870 


Notes on Light, . * 


. 


. 1871 


Hours of Exercise in the Alps, 


. 


1871 


Glaciers of the Alps, 


• 


. 1872 


Fragments of Science, 


. 


1876 


Floating Matter of the Air, 


. 


. 1881 


CHARLES 


DICKENS. 




Sketches by Boz, . 


• • • 


. 1836 


The Pickwick Papers, 


. 


1837 


Nicholas Nickleby, 


. 


. 1839 


Oliver Twist, . 


. 


1838 


Master Humphrey's Clock, 


. 


. 1841 


Old Curiosity Shop, 


• 


1840 


Barnaby Rudge, 


. 


. 1841 


American Notes, 


. . 


1842 


Martin Chuzzlewit, 


. 


. 1844 


Christmas Carol, 


• • 


. ■ 1843 


Cricket on the Hearth, 


• • • 


. 1845 


Pictures from Italy, 




1846 


Dombey and Son, . 


. 


. 1848 


David Copperfleld, 




1850 


Bleak House, 


• 


• 1853 


Child's History of England, . 




1854, 


Hard Times, 


. 


. 1854 


Little Dorrit, . 




1857 


Tale of Two Cities, 


. • • 


, 1859 


The Uncommercial Traveler, . 




i860 



LIST OF WORKS. 347 

Great Expectations, ..... 186 1 

Our Mutual Friend, ...... 1865 

Mystery of Edwin Drood (incomplete), . . . 1870 

A large number of short stories and sketches now col- 
lected and published as Christmas stories, etc., were orig- 
inally published in the monthly magazine "Household 
Words" (1850-1859) and 'in "All the Year Round" 
(r8 5 9-i8 70 ). 

DE LA MOTTE FOUQUE. 

Alwin, .... . . 1808 

Sigurd, ...... 1808 

Der Todesbund, . . . . . .1814 

Undiile, . . . . .1814 

Aslauga's Knight, . . . . .1814 

Sintram, . . . . . . 1814 

Algin and Jacunda, ..... 1814 

Der Zauberring, . . . . . 18 16 

Bertrand De Guesclin, ..... 182 1 

FREDERICK WILHELM CAROVE. 

With the exception of his Geschichte ohiie e7ide, "The 
Story Without an End " (date of publication unknown), 
the writings of Carove were controversial and philo- 
sophic ; and, although ranking high in these departments, 
have not been translated into English. 

EDWARD EVERETT. 

Public Addresses, Orations and Political Articles. (In 4 
volumes, published by Little, Brown & Co., Boston, Mass.) 

ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 

The speeches, state-papers and miscellaneous writings 
of Lincoln are to be found in United States Govern- 
ment and other periodical publications. 



INDEX. 



TEXT. NOTES. 

page. page. 

Adios 119 325 

Aglaia 267 335 

Akimbo 27 318 

Albany 68 321 

Aldebaran 307 341 

Aletschorn 161 328 

Almanac, Nautical 292 337 

Alpine Climbing 143 326 

Amonoosuck 9 316 

Andes 109 323 

Andrea Doria 114 324 

Andromeda „.. 300 340 

Angelo, Michael 296 339 

Antony's Nose . .. 54 320 

Appenines 109 323 

Archimedes 294 338 

Arete 148 327 

Aristotle 294 338 

Artes, los 115 325 

Arts, Bachelor of 302 341 

Aslauga .. 216 332 

Aslauga's Knight 216 331 

Athena 163 328 

Auberge 164 328 

Austin, Mrs. Sarah 256 334 

Auricula 261 334 

Babbage, Charles 290 337 

Badinage 84 323 

Basque 82 323 

Basses, Snow 173 328 

Bennen 177 329 

Bersaglier 144 326 

Bergschrund 173 328 

Bizarre 127 325 

Bias 83 323 

Bias, Old 82 322 



TEXT. NOTES. 



PAGE. 

Bob 197 

Bond 302 

Bowerie 35 

Bradley, James 299 

Buenos Ayres 109 

Bull Hill "55 

Burgh, the 32 

Cachez-vous 148 

Cadaverous 30 

Cadije 82 

Came down 181 

Carbuncle, the great 9 

Carove, F. W 256 

Charwoman 208 

Chrysalids 277 

Cicero 300 

Col 144 

Conjuror 42 

Couloir 148 

Consulate no 

Copernicus 285 

Coppices 119 

Cordova 117 

Cornbury, Lord 26 

Cossacks 33 

Crevasses 164 

Cronies 34 

Cut 194 

Cyane 276 

Cyclopean 280 

Cyrus 296 

Daffodil Sky 159 

Dante 296 

Data 294 

Davy, Sir Humphrey 301 

De Amicis, Edmondo,,.. 109 



PAGE. 

330 
34i 
319 
340 
324 
320 

319 

326 
318 
3 2 3 
330 
3 J 5 
334 
330 
335 
34o 
326 
3 J 9 
327 
324 
337 
3 2 5 
325 
3i8 
3i9 
328 
3*9 
33° 
335 
336 
339 

327 
339 
338 
34° 
323 



INDEX. 



349 



TEXT. NOTES. 

PAGE. PAGE. 

Debris 153 3 2 7 

Dented 159 3 2 7 

Dickens, Charles 180 329 

Dominican 296 339 

Dominie 26 318 

Door-nail 180 329 

Donner und blitzen 39 319 

Dove, H. W 160 328 

Duke 246 333 

Dunderberg. 53 320 

Dunderberg, Lord of 66 321 

Dutch, Low ... 53 320 

Edchen 223 332 

Empyrean 283 337 

Errata 292 338 

Es-tu bien place 155 327 

Etes-vous content 153 327 

Etruscan 295 339 

Everett, Edward 278 335 

Exorcised 41 319 

Facades 130 325 

Fiesole ... 295 338 

Fiorenza 295 339 

Fives 38 319 

Fire, the great 24 316 

Flemish 46 320 

Fouque De La Motte, .... 216 330 

Franciscan 296 339 

Franklin 297 340 

Fiihuen 216 331 

Gable ends 69 321 

Galileo 295 338 

Gallipots 30 319 

Galvani 301 340 

Gansevoorts 71 322 

Gauntlet 247 333 

Genoa 109 324 

Genoese 109 , 324 

Gibbet Island. 41 319 

Glissade 156 327 

Grub street 16 316 

Guadalupe Hidalgo 288 337 

Guignonet 90 323 

Haberdasher 116 325 



TEXT, NOTES. 

PAGE. PAGE. 

Harpsichord.. 42 320 

Hartz Mts 39 319 

Hautboys 252 334 

Hawthorne, Nathaniel 9 315 

Heidelberg 48 320 

Henry, Joseph 302 340 

Herald ....239 333 

Herculean 56 320 

Herschei, Sir John , 306 341 

Herschel, Sir William 298 340 

Heyliger, Dolph 26 317 

Highlands , . . . 53 320 

Hipparchus 294 338 

Hoboken ,... 75 322 

Hostlery 221 332 

Hudson, Hendnck 64 321 

Hunter, Gov 32 319 

Huyghens 304 341 

Hyacinth 261 334 

Hydrophobia 35 319 

Ich Kan Nicht 40 319 

Inquisition 296 339 

Integration 157 327 

Irving, Washington 26 317 

JOSEFA 140 325 

Joseph 296 339 

Julian Period 284 337 

Jupiter 297 339 

Keppler 295 338 

Kettle-drums 232 ■ 332 

Knipperhausen 30 319 

Laodicean 147 326 

La Place 299 340 

Leisler, Jacob 41 319 

Legatee 180 330 

Leverrier 297 340 

Lilliputian. 69 321 

' Lincoln, Abraham 311 34 1 

Lire no 324 

Lists 231 332 

Locke , 302 341 

Lombard 113 3 2 4 

Long bow, drawer of 81 322 

Lucumons 296 339 



35o 



INDEX. 



TEXT. NOTES. 

PAGE. PAGE. 

Lutheran 28 318 

L y ra 303 341 

MAL DES MONTAGNES. ..... 164 328 

Manhattoes 26 318 

Masquing device 232 332 

Master's degree. . 302 341 

Matterhorn 144 32 6 

Medal u 4 324 

Mendes, Catulle 82 322 

Mequinez 116 325 

Mesilla Valley 288 337 

Miller, Joe 213 330 

Milton 296 339 

Mitchel 302 341 

Moraine 159 327 

Morley, Henry 3 3I 

Morse, S. F. B 302 341 

Mogul, the Great 15 316 

Neve 144 326 

Newton 297 340 

Niblungen Lied 331 

Nicol, W 161 328 

Normandy 83 323 

Nuts 181 330 

Nychthemerum „.. 283 339 

Observations, reducing. . 279 336 

Omen 236 333 

Orion.. 159, 283 327, 336 

Oui 153 3*27 

Palatinate 32 319 

Palisadoes 75 322 

Parana 119 325 

Passage, third class 111 324 

Patriotta .124 325 

Peones. 130 325 

Perdigut, Antonin 84 323 

Persian idolator 24 316 

Pestle 30 318 

Pharaoh 296 339 

P haros 290 337 

Philosopher's Stone 68 321 

Phosphorescences 113 324 

Pickering 286 337 

Pinnace ...60 321 



TEXT. 

PAGE. 

Plata 114 

Plato 300 

Pleiades 159, 303 

Plenty's horn. rg6 

Po 119 

Pope, quotation from 282 

Prater 276 

Presage 236 

Prussia 244 

Pride before a fall 259 

Ptolemy 294 

Pyrenees 83 

Pythagoras 294 

QUATERN 200 

Quietus.. 60 

Ranunculus 260 

Raphael 296 

Rerum natura 17 

Rosario 113 

Rosebooms 71 

Roman Pontiff 284 

Rosse, Earl of 298 

Rubbish, shot. 173 

Rubicund 30 

Rugosity 155 

Runic writings 216 

Saco 10 

Sagas 

Sang-froid 155 

Santa Croce 296 

Saturn 297 

Saul 168 

Savant 293 

Schistose 168 

Shawangunk 66 

Shingle 147 

Sie mussen-. 163 

Signor . . 116 

Sigurd 216 

Sinbad 71 

Sirius 307 

Sirocco 149 

Skalds .".--.-.. 216 

Smith, Captain 12 , 

Snicker-snee 51 



NOTES. 

PAGE. 
324 
340 
327, 341 
330 
325 

; 336 
335 
333 
333 
334 
338 
323 
338 

33o 
321 

334 
339 
316 

324 
322 

337 
34° 
328 
3*8 
327 
33i 

316 
33i 
3 2 7 
339 
339 
328 
338 



326 
32S 
325 
332 
322 

34i 
328 



3i6 
320 



INDEX. 



351 



TEXT. NOTES. 

PAGE. PAGE. 

Soldo . 123 325 

Son.. 91 323 

Spiking-devil 52 320 

St. Croix 287 337 

Story without an end, the. 256 334 

St. Peter's 295 339 

Strasburg, printers of 297 339 

Sturves 284 337 

Stuyvesant 73 322 

Swampan 293 338 

Tappaan zee 53 320 

Thompson, Sir William.. 157 327 

Throw physic 68 321 

Tierra del Fuego. ....... 132 325 

Titanic 138 325 

Titian 296 339 

Tournament 220 332 

Tucuman 127 325 

Tulips 260 334 

Tycho de Brahe 295 338 

Tyndall, John 143 326 



TEXT. NOTES. 

page. page. 

Ultima Thule 299 340 

Uranianberg 295 338 

Valkyrien 224 332 

Vander Heyden 61 321 

Vanderspiegel 27 318 

Van Rensselaers 71 322 

Venus 297 ' 339 

Vicary, J. Fulford 332 

Vis viva ... 177 329 

Vizor 235 333 

Volsungasaga ... , 332 

Wagner, Richard 331 

Walk-er 213 330 

Walker, S. C 302 341 

Wampum 59 320 

Webster, Daniel 288 337 

Whipster 28 318 

Will o' the wisp 270 335 

Winnowing, selective 160 328 

Yonkers 52 320 



